


Session 27: Bleeding Heart Blues

by wolfiefics



Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: Blues, F/M, Jazz Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-20
Updated: 2011-05-20
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfiefics/pseuds/wolfiefics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike Spiegel had his hands on 20 million woolongs and didn't even know it. When he goes back for the bounty head he and the rest of the Bebop crew discover that 20 million is a drop in the bucket compared with a life that happened to be disrupted by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now that, folks, is the stuff of real blues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters of Cowboy Bebop are the property of Bandai Entertainment and their affiliates. All other characters are the products of the creative nuttiness that is me. No infringement is intended; this work is a work of amateur fiction. No profit is made. Please do not use original characters without prior permission from the author. Begun 2004-completed 2011
> 
> The song "Bleeding Heart Blues" was sung by the legendary Bessie Smith. It was recorded in June of 1923. The lyrics to this song can be found at http://www.heptune.com/bleeding.html. Some of the other songs used to be found at http://nfo.net/jazzage/ogg.htm, a website that had a lot of the original jazz recordings from the 1890s to the 1930s in .ogg format. It has unfortunately gone the way of many websites, which is a shame. It's fascinating to hear some of the great jazz and blues artists that are just a name in the history books, as they may have had no recording contracts to help them put out albums, or it's live sessions that are just too awesome to pass up. The rest are taken from my own Jazz Golden Age collection.
> 
> Also, I'm making this post-Real Folk Blues, which was the final television episode. Spike, as you can see, lived through his battle with Vicious. Ed and Ein are back. Faye and Jet, naturally, never went anywhere. If you're a "Spike died in Session #26" believer, then, take this as an alternative universe story. If not, you're good to jam!

It never ceased to amaze anyone that docked on Oberon that a moon of one of the farthest planets in the solar system could be so hospitable. Fifty-five years ago the moon of Uranus was just another crater-pocked, icy-ball of a satellite around the eighth planet in the solar system. With a cycle that roughly gave a 42 year day and 42 year night alternately, it was thought to be impossible to terraform. No one told the terraformers who started the planning on Oberon. They used the latest techniques and ideas to match their determined enthusiasm. Before anyone knew it, three cities sprung up, comfortable, cozy and clean.

Well, only for a little while.

Woodland never made it. The trees refused to grow and when the oxygen filters suddenly went down the population went through a rapid and messy decrease. That left Athens and Theseus, the wrong and right sides of Oberon's metaphorical tracks. The city of Theseus isn't exactly in pristine condition. In fact, it’s typical of someplace you wouldn't want your children growing up. Every crook, murderer, and con artist heads straight for Theseus. The biosphered city probably has its share of good eggs, but where such gems would be hiding is anyone's guess. If they're smart, they moved to Athens with the rest of the snooty crowd.

Where did Bebop land, you ask? Take a wild guess.

Theseus has the best blues and jazz joints in the system, no doubt about that. The place was perfect for lost souls like Spike Spiegel, Jet Black and Faye Valentine.

Oh and the infamous Radical Edward.

Downtown in the heart of the club district was a rockin' little joint called The Memphis Blues. Everything from ragtime to swing blared from live bands and prerecorded albums, depending on the night. Every Saturday evening, though, The Memphis Blues was packed to the rafters for a very special performance by Theseus' most popular talent, The Nymph. With her supple body dancing classical moves of the 1920s Jazz Age, along with a husky alto tailor made to turn men, and discerning women, into puddles on the floor, The Nymph was a must see on every jazz and blues lover's sightseeing tour of Oberon. It was said she was more than worth the trouble of getting to The Memphis Blues, let alone finding someplace to stand or sit for the performance.

Spike got to The Memphis Blues at noon. His partner, Jet Black, was there two hours earlier than that. Neither man was willing to take a chance on missing this opportunity; who knows where they would be next Saturday night? Spike nodded to the bartender and placed his order for whatever was on tap in the form of beer. Once the bartender finished his five minute list of brews, Spike ordered a Mars Milwaukee. He knew what that was; the rest sounded suspicious at best.

"You could have ordered a scotch or a whiskey, you know," Jet told him, taking a delicate sip of his own brew.

Spike grinned laconically, his eyes searching the bar, alert as always for trouble. "Sometimes you just crave a beer, no matter what your tastes in alcohol."

Jet shrugged. "If you say so."

"I do," Spike agreed. "This place is..." He searched for a word, couldn't find it and shrugged.

"Retro, I think is what you want to call it." Jet turned on his bar stool and looked around himself. "The bartender says the owner's a big fan of the original Jazz Age. Did a lot of research into getting the look of a gin joint down perfectly. No expense spared. Some of these objects are actual antiques from the early 20th century too. Like the decor?"

Spike eyed the old movie posters, taking particular interest in a poster featuring a guy dressed as a hobo with a kid sitting next to him. The title of the old movie was "The Kid" and the stars were some guys named Chaplin and Coogan. Another featured a cowboy on a white rearing horse, the title proclaiming that Ken Maynard was "The Upland Rider". Neon signs lit up the inside, proclaiming that people needed to drink various sodas, visit their local drug store, and to indulge in filling gas at the local gas station.

"It's interesting," Spike commented.

"A real piece of history," agreed Jet.

Over the next few hours the bar began to fill up. Spike and Jet jockeyed for a table fairly close to the front, but not too close that they'd miss some part of the performance. This was a special treat for the space cowboys and neither wanted to miss a single detail. Spike splurged and ordered what he was assured was a traditional gin joint appetizer, oyster cocktails. Jet watched in disgust as Spike slurped the entire batch down.

Eight o'clock rolled around and The Memphis Blues was stuffed to the rafters. The music was fast-paced and dancers were gyrating and shaking where ever they found room. By eight-o-five, the lights were dimmed and two spotlights crossed each other to fill up the stage at the front. All attention was focused on the entrance of The Nymph.

The song was soulful, sad and haunting, the way blues should be sung. The husky alto voice slid through the crowd, seeping into their hearts, causing the room to freeze as if a mosaic.

_When your sad and lonely,_  
 _Thinking about you only,_  
 _Feeling disgusted and blue,_  
 _Ah, your heart is aching,_  
 _Yes, it's almost breaking,_  
 _No one to tell your troubles to,_  
 _That's the time you hang your head,_  
 _And begin to cry._

The voice was everywhere and nowhere. Spike's brown eyes met Jet's stunned blue ones. Neither could speak but both knew the other felt the same: monumentally depressed. As one they sagged peacefully into their seats, content to let the blues wash over them. Without warning though the beat changed, charged suddenly with energy. It tidal waved over the crowd, galvanizing every member and the curtains opened to reveal a flag pole with a woman perched on top. Her shining brown hair was bobbed and her costume dripped fringe and sequins. Her eyes were an undetermined color but the smoky liner made them huge and waif-like.

The Nymph was glamour and sophistication in one hell of an exciting package.

Before Jet and Spike knew it, they were stomping to the beat of a jazz tune that had the little gin joint rockin'. It was a fun little ditty that once they paid attention the words, the two hardened space cowboys were laughing hard. It was ludicrous but they couldn't help but enjoy it.

_When it gets too hot for comfort_  
 _And you can't get an ice cream cone_  
 _T' aint no sin to take off your skin_  
 _And dance around in your bones._

_When you hear the lazy syncopation,_  
 _And the music softly moans,_  
 _T' aint no sin to take off your skin_  
 _And dance around in your bones._

Other songs came and went. The Nymph gyrated through shimmys, toddles and trots. She sidled, she shook, and she oozed sensuality. No man in the joint could take his eyes off her; every woman there wanted to be just like her. It was like the Roaring '20s had come back to life.

As the music for the Charleston started a roar grew from the back of the hoppin' joint and came forward. Jet and Spike found themselves on their feet again, clapping and hollering with the rest as The Nymph, brown hair flying and fringed skirt swishing, maneuvered through the fast paced dance, never missing a step, never missing a beat.

It was wild, it was nostalgic... it was fantastic. She finished with a flourish, grinned at the cheering crowd and with the help of the advanced sound system that had nothing to do with antiquity, giggled "oop oop be doop!" as she swished her nicely rounded derriere. She waved to the crowd and exited stage right. The crowd continued to cheer their approval and beg for an encore.

But The Nymph never did an encore.

"Holy God!" laughed Jet as the two bounty hunters resumed their seats. "I never knew that old jazz could be so heartstopping!"

"Me neither," laughed Spike, his heart still pounding. "She's quite the show-woman."

"That she is, my friend, that she is." Jet tossed back the rest of his gin-and-tonic and stood back up. "I'm heading back to the ship. You comin'?"

Spike was still grinning as he shook his head, euphoria still coursing through him. He hadn't felt this alive in a very long time. He watched as his partner fought his way through the milling crowd, listening to the excited chatter of people reviewing the performance. The waitress took more drink orders and Spike decided to splurge and ordered a glass of the joint's homemade gin.

He sipped the sharp tasting liquor as the bar slowly emptied out. By two o'clock, Earth Standard Time, there were only about 50 people left, conversing, enjoying the live band that remained following The Nymph's performance. His plan fully formed in his mind, Spike made his move. Without a soul noticing, he left his table, leaving the right amount of woolongs for the tab, and disappeared backstage.

He had to meet this Nymph.

* * *

Nerina Karakinos hung the sequined and befringed dress on the hanger and zipped up the thermal sealing bag that protected it. The dress was expensive even as a replica and it was one of her favorite costumes. She sagged into her dressing room chair and stared pensively in the mirror for a long moment. It had been a good performance; the crowd was appreciative as usual. She'd enjoyed herself immensely.

Radney Acren, The Memphis Blues' owner, had been skeptical about the new song numbers and the set layout but Rina felt vindicated. The show was successful and Rina was feeling good about herself. She hadn't felt that way in several weeks. A knock on her dressing room door caused her to grin. She grabbed her satin dressing gown and hastily put it on, calling out as she did so, "Gimme a second, Rad!" She jerked open the door, smiling triumphantly, ready to give her friend hell for doubting her, but the smile slipped from her face.

It wasn't Radney.

"May I help you?" she asked politely. The stranger lifted an eyebrow, though it was hardly noticeable underneath the frizzy hair that topped his crown.

"You sure can," the man replied smoothly. "I'm a huge jazz fan, but I have to say, I've never heard those songs that you sang out there. I was wondering where you get your material?" He lounged casually against the doorjamb like he owned the place.

Rina studied him a moment. She was usually a good judge of character and her senses were telling her that this was just another fan of The Nymph's. After a second consideration, Rina added more: he was also a lost soul like so many blues and jazz hounds. Something happened in his past, something that profoundly affected him to the core. He was a loner, a dangerous loner, and trouble with a capital T.

The thing was, Rina was always a sucker for a lost soul, trouble or no.

She held the door open slightly wider in a silent invitation to enter. The stranger took the gesture for what it was and sidled in easily, as if he'd been sneaking into dressing rooms his entire life. Maybe he had, she reflected.

"Research."

The man blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Where I get my material," Rina explained. "I do research and lots of it. You have to know the roots of what you love to really understand its complexity."

"I see." The man considered this. "May I sit down? I smell a long discussion in the making." Rina looked at him again. Definitely trouble, but trouble she could probably handle. He seemed mild enough, for the moment. She nodded and he gingerly sat on a straight-backed chair that she had tucked in the corner. Rina turned her dressing table chair around to face him and sat down herself.

"So what are the roots of what you sing?" He seemed genuinely interested so Rina explained the complex origins of jazz and blues from their roots in African-American slave music and the uniqueness of American society in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

"So when Prohibition was forced upon the country following World War I, the setting was ripe for good times and good booze, even if it had to go underground."

The man grinned. "You can't stop a good time."

"No," Rina agreed, "you can't.

"Spike Spiegel."

Rina blinked at the sudden introduction. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Spiegel. Glad you enjoyed the performance but I -" She was about to politely show him the door but he interrupted.

"Just call me Spike. Do I just call you Nymph?" His brown eyes, one a more amber color than the other, glittered invitingly at her. 'Play with fire, I won't let you get burned,' they seemed to say.

"Hey, Rina!" Radney Acren slammed open the door. "You bitch, I hate you. You were right all along. That show was just the -" Rad's words faded as he took in Spike's presence and Rina's skimpy clothing. "Oh. Didn't mean to interrupt." Rad's voice indicated otherwise and his watery blue eyes had an accusatory look to them when they focused on Rina.

"Mr. Spiegel wanted to know where I got the material for tonight's show, Rad," Rina explained, inwardly sighing. She was never going to hear the end of this. Rad had been trying to bed her for two years, though lately without much gusto. His interest was apparently waning, much to Rina's relief and amusement. "We were discussing the beauty of jazz and blues. Care to join us?"

Rad looked bilious at the thought. Spike merely looked amused. Rina had no doubt he'd figured out the situation between Rad and herself without any trouble.

"No, no, you go ahead. I was just going to apologize for doubting you. You're The Nymph after all, you know your stuff." Rad gave Spike another look, this one more threatening. "Jay said he'd walk you to the cab when you're ready but don't make him wait too long. He's got that new baby at home, y'know."

What Rina knew was that Rad's words were an outright lie, but she was somewhat grateful for the opening Rad gave her. "Yes, I know. Thanks, Rad. Good of you to notice that I'm capable." She teased him out of his bad humor for a few moments more and Radney left reassured that his star and good friend could take care of her 'fan'.

"Got a thing going on there?" Spike asked nonchalantly.

Rina smiled derisively. "No, not really. I helped Rad get The Memphis Blues put together. We're old friends. He'd been trying to make it more but lately his attentions have thankfully directed themselves elsewhere. He's still protective though." Rina gave Spike a warning look. "Don't let his frantic personality fool you. He's kept this joint running and successful in one of the roughest neighborhoods on this rock. He's not someone to be taken lightly."

Spike held up his hands in a peaceful gesture. "I have no intention of starting trouble. I just wanted to talk, honest." Rina eyed him closely and Spike reiterated in a firm voice. "Honest."

"Okay. You can stay then. It's nice to have someone else to talk too, I have to say." Rina stepped behind the old-fashioned dressing curtain to get into her clothes.

"What's a girl like you doing in a gin joint like this?" Spike asked.

"Ha, ha, very clever line, Spike," teased Rina. She peeked around the cloth curtain to see Spike's confused look. "Apparently you never watch the old movies."

"Not unless there's nothing else on the vid," Spike admitted.

"It's an old turn of phrase, usually a line from a guy to a girl," Rina explained. "For a guy who seems to be pretty worldly, you're pretty ignorant."

"Um, thanks?" Spike's eyes narrowed in the direction of her dressing curtain. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't mean ignorant as in stupid. I mean ignorant as in uneducated. You know about life, modern life, how to survive in whatever environment is your element. You might have a special hobby or skill that you are a master at but you don't seem the type to broaden your horizons much." Rina stepped out from behind the curtain only to have Spike grab her shoulders and pull her forward.

"I hope you don't mind if we test that theory, do you?" he asked, his lips a few centimeters from hers.

Warning bells jangled in her head but her body ignored them. She knew she shouldn't be doing this. Last time she'd had a one night fling it had been a disaster that had almost blown all she'd worked for up in her face. There was something about this Spike Spiegel, though, that Nerina Karakinos just couldn't resist.

They kissed, softly at first and then with heat. Spike's mouth slanted roughly over hers, causing them both to groan. Passion flared as unexpectedly as the attraction that drove Spike to pull her to him. Their bodies melded together, the dance of sexual tension pressing them tighter and tighter to each other. Hands threaded through hair and Spike's mouth broke from Rina's to trail down her throat.

Nerina undid Spike's tie in one fluid motion, flinging it toward the dressing room. His jacket followed. His white shirt was quickly unbuttoned so she could skim her hands down his chest. Her fingertips found scars, gently caressing each one. What she felt confirmed what she'd suspected at the beginning: this was a man who lived a dangerous life.

As Spike suspected, this was a woman who was all curves, all soft skin, but steel underneath. Her muscles were well-honed, her body neat and trim from her dancing. Her shirt was easily undone, as was her bra. Her breasts were perfect mounds, filling his hands as if they were made for them. She gave a giggly gasp when he brushed his fingertips over her ribcage. Ticklish, was she? Her skirt, wispy and clingy was pulled down her hips with a flick of his wrist. As he nuzzled her neck, he helped her step out of it.

He hadn't connected like this since Julia.

Nerina moaned as his tongue hit a sensitive spot and Julia fled from his mind. A shadow, a ghost...a past long gone.

They clung to each other, exploring, tasting, touching. Their breaths came out in pants, eyes focused on the other, each seeking the other's release. There was little foreplay, neither had a taste for it. Spike entered her like a knife into a sheath. Back and forth they rocked, in and out in a smooth motion. The explosion of their climax came for Nerina first but Spike soon followed. Her nails scored his back, turning him on even more, pushing him over the brink.

Then it was over. Spike collapsed in Nerina's arms, slumping to the floor. Nerina realized that the scratching on her back had been the wall, not the floor. She started to chuckle and Spike raised his head up to look at her. "What's so funny?"

"I've never done this standing up before," Rina said around another chuckle.

"You weren't standing," Spike pointed out with a satisfied grin. "I was."

Rina nodded. "So you were, I now lay flat on the floor corrected."

Spike cushioned his head on her shoulder, breathing in her scent. "I didn't intend to do this when I came to your dressing room, you know."

'He's probably telling the truth, but it doesn't matter,' Rina thought to herself. "That's okay. It takes two to tango, to coin a phrase."

"I've never tangoed either. Well, not the dance anyway." Spike's words were mumbled into her hair.

"Maybe someday you'll learn," Rina told him. "If so, come back. I love to tango."

She moved, pushing away from him. "You're leaving?" Spike's eyes were drowsy.

Rina gave an apologetic smile. "I've got someone holding a cab for me, remember?" She paused. "Look, Spike, I -"

"No regrets?" Spike gave her a crooked grin.

Rina smiled back. "Okay, no regrets, but that isn't very bluesy of us."

Spike gave a fatalistic shrug. "I've lived enough of a bluesy life for the two of us. I think I can afford to skip one moment."

Rina only laughed as she got dressed again. "The place shuts down one minute after I leave the building," she explained. "I'm always the last one out, so the security is keyed to my exit signature."

Spike lumbered to his feet and began to dress quickly. "I'll take that as a hint to get the hell out."

"I don't mean it that way, but yeah." Rina opened her dressing room door and looked over her shoulder. "I'm going to use another old line, if you don't mind?"

Spike looked up. "Yeah?"

Rina smiled softly. "Here's looking at you, kid." The door closed behind her. By the time Spike made it out of the dressing room less than thirty seconds later, The Nymph was nowhere to be found.

Chapter End Notes:  
Interested in the song that The Nymph sang here? Then clicky the linkies for the songs featured in this chapter!  
[Bleeding Heart Blues](http://youtu.be/a-CJmKuuEKg) sung by Bessie Smith and is on YouTube.  
[Dance Around in Your Bones](urbones_martygrosz.mp3) sung by Marty Gros.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey, Jay!" Rina stepped out into the back alley behind the Memphis Blues, expecting to find the six foot four bouncer waiting impatiently for her. "Jay?" Despite the fact that Jay hated waiting, he always did. Rina didn't think there was a person who worked for the Memphis Blues that wouldn't die for her or for Radney.

"Jay?" Rina's tone was more desperate and worried. Jay didn't have the personality to hide for a prank or to teach her a lesson. Something was wrong.

"...told you to pay the money. But you didn't. Somehow you managed to get out of the whole deal. Clever, real clever." Rina stopped at the voice. It sounded familiar but she didn't know why. "So instead, we insist you tell us your little Saturday night secret. Who's The Nymph?"

"Never in a million years." The voice was small, yet defiant. Radney Acren.

"Shame." The threatening voice had a note of pity in it. "Shame you have to be stubborn. You see, the Syndicate has a vested interest in this area and you're poaching."

"I was here first! My family helped terraform this hunk of ice -urk!"Rad's voice suddenly cut off.

Rina, worry overshadowed by a need to know what was going on, crouched behind a huge dumpster that probably hadn't been dumped in a few months. Trash overflowed from it where people continued to toss their garbage in the dumpster's general direction. She peeked around a corner that wasn't blocked by too much crap to view the tableau set before her.

Radney was on his knees, execution style, while three men in black suits circled him. The one speaking seemed to be the one in charge, but they looked like triplets to Rina at such a distance. Dark sunglasses obscured their eyes and the dim light from the distant sun shined dully on their shoes. Despite being evening, on Oberon the moon was on year 34 of a 42 year day.

"There are no squatter's rights, Mr. Acren. You didn't pay, you won't cooperate with our operations, so," the man chuckled, "I'm afraid we're gonna have to mess ya up."

Rina mentally groaned at the bad usage of a really bad gangster line from the 1930s. She wondered idly if the man knew he was being ironic or if he was chuckling because he was looking forward to 'messing Radney up'. Her attention was focused back to Radney when the sound of flesh hitting flesh floated to her ears. For what seemed like hours she watched in horror as Radney was beaten severely. Still he didn't waiver in his determination to not reveal Rina's identity. Nor would he pay the extortion money.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder and Rina turned in fright, her mouth opened to scream. A hand slammed over her mouth and Jay's face loomed over hers in the dim light. He shook his head to indicate she should be quiet. He nodded his head toward the front of the alley, where the club's entrance was. She never went that way, as it risked exposing herself to people who might follow her home. The Nymph was a secret kept by a very close few. "Go," he mouthed and she nodded frantically.

Before she could move though, a shot rang out. Both Rina and Jay turned back to Radney, who was now still on the ground, his blood splattered all over the alley wall. Rina shrank in horror into Jay's chest. As the men conversed with each other about their next plan of action, Jay shoved Rina harshly toward the front of the alley, mouthing again "Go!" before he sprang from behind the dumpster, attacking Rad's killers.

Rina ran as if the hounds of Hell were on her trail. For all she knew, they were.

* * *

Spike just cleared the street corner when he heard the shot. His mind had been sunk in the actions of his evening with The Nymph but he was instantly alert at the sound of violence. Years as a Syndicate hitman and then a bounty hunter honed his instincts razor-sharp. Worried for the safety of The Nymph, Spike tore back down the street. He saw a small shadow racing for a cab some distance away but the vehicle was long gone by the time he reached the spot. Three men in very familiar suits met him at the alley entrance right next door to The Memphis Blues.

"Hello, boys," Spike drawled. The three men turned on him, loaded guns pointing at his chest, their expressions grim. "Maybe you don't realize but there's no one to pay your salaries." He held his hands out in a gesture of surrender.

"Spike Spiegel," spat one of the suits. "I wondered when one of us would run into you." Grins spread across their faces. "Taking down a legend like you will assure us a place in the ranks of the Syndicate."

Spike grinned back, completely self-assured. "Well, congratulations, for running into me." He kicked out, his long legs rapidly smacking the handguns from the suits' hands. The motion was smooth and effortless. "Now what are you going to do?"

The suits went from smirking to grim-faced. "You shouldn't be here," one of the other suits complained. "We were told no hitmen."

Spike frowned. "Who told you?"

The suits frowned back. "The Van, of course." The lead suit casually slipped his hands in his jacket pockets. Spike waved a finger rebukingly at him like he would a child. The hand was removed from the pocket.

Spike began to laugh. He couldn't help it. On three other planets, the criminal underworld was in total disarray because the Van of the Red Dragon Syndicate had been completely wiped out by Spike's former friend and enemy, Vicious. When Spike narrowly defeated Vicious, all organization within the Red Dragon Syndicate completely collapsed. The dog eat dog world of the criminal underworld went a step deadlier. These idiots didn't know a damned thing, they were so out of the loop.

Spike continued to chuckle. "First of all, you guys should check in with Mars every once in awhile. Second, I'll be your liaison." He grinned.

"And third?" asked the spokes-suit suspiciously.

"There's no Red Dragon Syndicate anymore. Vicious killed the Van." Spike's grin grew larger. "And I killed Vicious." Two more kicks and a well-timed punch landed Spike a pile of Syndicate suits. "For the trouble you boys have put me through, I'm hoping you're worth at least a couple thousand woolongs."

Assured that the three boneheads were unconscious, Spike ran down the alley. He found the back door exit where The Nymph had undoubtedly left. Further down the alleyway he found the reason why the suits were at The Memphis Blues. Two bodies lay side by side. One was a heavy guy, undoubtedly the bouncer Jay that was waiting for The Nymph. And the other was The Memphis Blues' owner, Radney Acren.

* * *

"There you are." Jet met his partner in the docking bay. "Did you help close the bar up or something?" The wily bounty hunter eyed the three suited men that Spike was hauling off of the Swordfish, Spike's fighter jet. Two were strapped to the wings, the other crammed in the tiny little space behind Spike's seat. All were unconcious. "How'd you get that guy in there?"

Spike turned to grimace at Jet. "Now I know what a sardine feels like."

"What are they doing here?" Jet motioned his cybernetic arm at the unconscious trio.

"I want to see if there's a bounty on former Syndicate operatives and why they shot the owner of The Memphis Blues." Spike cuffed the three of suits together and then to a heavy steel bar in the docking bay. "That should hold them for now. Help me check their pockets, will you? They might have skeleton keys or lock picks." The two bounty hunters thoroughly searched the Syndicate men.

Jet looked over the considerable cache of weapons and grunted. "Quite a haul here."

Spike looked grim. "Yeah, it is."

Jet walked back toward the main living area of the Bebop. "You say they killed the owner of The Memphis Blues? Why?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Spike collapsed on one of the purgatorial couches. The couches weren't comfortable but they were there.

"Well," Jet rubbed his chin, "we could check the bounty lists and local news agency. See if anything's up."

"Good idea." Spike nodded.

"Wheeeee!" Radical Edward, or Ed, came spinning in, VR goggles over her eyes huge eyes, red hair spiky and unbrushed, making her look like a long-legged, hyper bug. A small Welsh Corgi, Ein by name, followed in her wake, panting happily as usual. "Spikey-wikey came homey-womey I see-ee," singsonged Ed.

"Bully for me," grumbled Spike. He still hated kids but Ed wasn't too bad, once you realized she was insane. A genius on a computer, but completely insane.

"Oooooooo," Ed jerked the goggles off her face and loomed over Spike, filling up his line of sight. "Somebody's in a bad mooooood!"

"Ed!" barked Jet in a slightly stern manner. "Check the news agencies about a murder in Theseus. The owner of The Memphis Blues. Tell us when you have something, okay"

"Okey-dokey artichokey!" Ed saluted Jet and beelined straight for her computer, singing her silly songs as she went. "Computer computer show me trues, is something wrong with The Memphis Blues"

Spike peered over at Jet. "Are you sure we can't trade her and the dog off for a new refrigerator and some spare parts?"

"Spike," Jet growled in warning. Ein woofed in reproach at Spike.

"Ed's found something!" Ed piped up, completely oblivious to everything except what appeared on her computer screen. "Radney Acren, age 57, brown hair, blue eyes, found dead dead dead with a six shooter wound to the noggin next to an employee of The Memphis Blues, Jay LeWray, also dead dead dead." Ed's tone remained singsong despite the information she was reporting. All the adult members of the Bebop's crew sometimes wondered if Ed realized that she was reporting real life and not living in a game.

"I know that!" Spike said impatiently. "Now how about some suspects, motives or whatever."

"Right-O!" Ed didn't miss a beat. "Police are reporting an extortion deal gone bad, or maybe a drug deal gone bad. Either way," Ed said solemnly, "it was bad and Rad Radney is dead dead."

"Any mention of The Nymph in the report" Jet gave Spike a startled look.

"Nope, other than the security system of the Memphis Blues reported The Nymph as the last employee to leave the club, which seems to be the usual routine," Ed reported dutifully.

"That's what she said was the norm too, but I swear I saw her running from that alley," Spike said grimly.

"You think she killed them?" asked Jet in an odd voice.

Spike didn't notice. "No, I know those three scum in our docking bay did it, but why and how The Nymph fits in, I have no idea. She didn't seem the Syndicate kind of girl."

"You'd know all about those," Jet muttered to himself.

"What?" Spike turned flashing brown eyes on his partner.

Jet held up his hands in surrender. "Nothing, nothing. Okay, so a club we just went to suddenly lost it's owner and a bouncer. The Syndicate, which should be defunct, or at the least, in complete chaos, is involved in their deaths. The whys are still unknown, but I'm willing to side with the local authorities on this one. It has to be extortion or some drug deal gone wrong."

Spike shook his head. "Not the Syndicate's style. Those boys are completely out of the loop, Jet. They didn't know I'd left, but they knew my face. And they definitely didn't know the Van and Vicious were dead. So that's four years of not being in contact with the main organization. They could be running something on the side, but unless they're stupid, they wouldn't be doing that. If it was discovered..." Spike let the sentence trail off. Jet knew what would have happened if it had been discovered by the higher ups in the Syndicate that some peon was running a front without giving the organization a cut of the profit.

"Did they strike you as stupid?" asked Jet, puzzled now.

Spike shook his head again. "No stupider than usual, but mostly just uninformed."

The two men looked at each other with identical grim expressions. "Which means," Jet concluded, "that something else was going on around here, something that those three are being used for. Something big."

"If it was that big, then the Syndicate wouldn't have left them out of the loop." Both men turned around at the introduction of a new voice. Faye Valentine sauntered in and tossed her money card on the table between the two couches. "What's up? New bounty I hope."

"Hi Faye Faye!" greeted Ed enthusiastically. Ein barked in welcome. Both men scowled at the tomboyish woman.

"Lose it all, did ya?" drawled Jet sardonically.

"On that card I did." Faye motioned to the empty card on the table. She held another one up. "Hit the jackpot with this one." She grinned. "One more debt gone." Since rediscovering who she really was and where she came from, Faye had been turning her gambling habit towared actuallyp paying off the mountain of debt she'd been swindled into accepting. Though the amount was staggering, with Jet's connections looking into the swindle, the amount was diminishing quickly.

"Couple hundred left to go." Spike grinned nastily at her.

"I hate you, Spike," Faye told him without rancor.

"Yeah, yeah, promises promises." Spike waved a dismissive hand in her direction. He turned his attention back to Ed's computer screen. "So any bounty for the killers of Acren and LeWray"

Ed typed a couple times and then shook her head. "Nope, nada, not one woolong, but they are asking for information regarding the crime." Ed paused and looked up questioningly. "Should Ed report that we have information regarding the crime?"

Spike looked at Jet, who only shrugged. Something was going on with Spike that Jet had yet to fathom. For now, the cagey ex-ISSP officer decided to let the younger man control the game; he'd step in only if things got out of control.

At that moment Ed's computer beeped. Ed's face lit up. "New bounty!"

Spike, Jet and Faye leaned forward. "Yeah?" asked Spike. "Who?"

"The Nymph. Twenty million woolongs for any information regarding the whereabouts of The Nymph," Ed reported with something bordering on glee.

Spike frowned at her. The girl really needed a reality check.


	3. Chapter 3

Her hands shook as she put the book on the shelf. Belatedly she realized that it was the wrong shelf and frowned. Nerina stared hard at the numbers and letters swarming in front of her face but she couldn't make heads or tails out of them. She was too shaken up by what she saw the night before to be of much use today.

_Rad is dead. Jay is dead._ The words kept repeating over and over inside Rina's mind. She was sure that any moment the mobsters would coming storming into the building and shoot her dead as well. "What am I going to do?" she whispered to herself.

And then it hit her. Clutching the book tightly in her hand, Rina raced back down the stairs to her office. Once ensconced behind her desk she took out several peices of paper and began to handwrite out what she witnessed the night before. She described every detail she could remember: the location, the men in the suits, the discussion she'd overheard between them and Rad, how Jay jumped onto Rad's killers to distract them so she could escape, and how the men in the suits wanted information on her. She included her confusion about why anyone would want her, as she had no criminal record and was not involved in anything criminal that she knew of.

Taking a deep breath she folded up the papers and carefully pulled the front cover off the book, tucking the handwritten pages inside the little pocket she'd made. Rina applied a little bit of glue to the edge of the front facing and pressed it down, essentially sealing closed her eyewitness account. It would be her weapon, her bargaining chip of staying alive should she be captured by Jay and Rad's killers.

She hoped.

A bit more relieved now that she'd done something, even something insignificant, to protect herself, Rina left her office only to be confronted by an excited co-worker. "Rina," panted Ellen Andrews, "you _have_ to come quickly! They've reported two murders down in the club district! You remember that old terraformer who hung out in the twentieth century history section a few years back? He's one of the victims!"

The bodies had been discovered and reported to the local police. Rina felt sick to her stomach. "You mean, Radney Acren?" she asked faintly.

Ellen didn't notice her co-worker's reaction. "Yes! That's the one." Ellen giggled suddenly. "Didn't he have a crush on you for a couple months, sending you flowers and such?"

"Yes," Rina said, swaying slightly on her feet, the blood rushing from her head. "That was him."

"Come on!" Ellen grabbed Rina's wrist and drug her to the media section where a group of the library workers who'd been at the branch for several years and knew Rad were gathered.

"Never knew anyone who'd been murdered before," someone piped up.

"Murders don't happen very often," someone else added. "They usually just get beat up pretty bad."

Which was true, Rina reflected. Murders were surprisingly uncommon in Theseus, considering its reputation and the people that frequented the city. Most of the violence stemmed from beatings or knifings. A death from such incidents was surprisingly rare. Two murders at the same time was big news.

"...authorities are still either unsure or unwilling to disclose a possible motive for the shootings. However, it is believed that the famous nightclub singer, The Nymph, may have information regarding the crime, if she is not directly involved herself. The ISSP is asking for any information regarding these murders or the whereabouts of The Nymph."

_The Nymph may have information regarding the crime, if she is not directly involved herself._

'I'm a suspect!' Rina thought in shock. 'Oh my God, they think I was involved!'

Ellen turned around in time to see her friend sink gracefully to the floor. "Rina!" Several other co-workers knelt down beside the fainting woman. Ellen chafed her friend's wrist and confided to them all, "It's because one of the victim's was an old flame."

* * *

**THUMP**

"Uhn!"

"So you're going to tell me you don't know nothing about The Nymph?" **THUMP** "She's worked at this joint for how long and not one of you punks have any idea who she is?" **THUMP**

Seven employees of The Memphis Blues stood petrified, a gun to each head as the head bartender was continuously kicked, punched and systematically beaten for the information the suits wanted. One waitress made a motion to say something but a warning look from her two neighbors silenced her quickly.

Not quickly enough.

"What do you know?" The lead suit grabbed her from the line and jerked her toward him. As she stuttered incoherently, he slowly backed her against the wall, rubbing suggestively against her as he did so, the others winced. Susan would be the first to crack; they'd hoped she wouldn't. "I said, what," the suit grabbed the top of her skimpy blouse, "do, " he jerked hard, making the material rip, "you," the material was slowly torn downward, exposing her to everyone, "know?" Susan whimpered as the suit's hand closed over her ample breast and squeezed hard.

"The Nymph isn't her name," blubbered Susan in terror, eyes wild. "Rad once called her Rina."

"Rad called her Rina," mimicked the suit in a high voice. "Rina what?"

Susan mutely shook her head. Finally the head bartender managed to take in enough answer to reply. "We were never told. It was a closely guarded secret. We just know the The Nymph helped Mr. Acren get information on the place."

"Meaning?" asked another suit, poking a waiter with the barrel of his pistol. The waiter only trembled.

"Meaning," spat out the bartender, "that she helped him find all the vintage stuff he used for the decor. And she came up with all the numbers, the dance steps, the music, the costumes, everything. She kept to a rigid schedule and they guarded her identity real close."

"Why?" asked one of the other suits. "What's she hiding?" He gave the bartender another kick to the ribs. There was a crack that indicated a bone gave way.

"If we knew, I swear to God we'd tell you!" gasped the bartender before he blacked out from the pain.

The head suit frowned. "We'll take the bimbo here," he squeezed Susan's breast again and she began to cry softly, "and shoot him and..." The suit motioned from the unconscious bartender to the lead trombone player in the live band, "him. Let the rest go." He smiled charmingly at the assembled group, who stared back at him in horror. "Pass on the word that The Nymph's being hunted. There's a bounty on her head by the police, thanks to our interference, and we'd like to get her before they do. Less trouble hushing up our operations with the corrupt cops if we get her first. If you bring her to us, you get to live."

"We know where you live," warned the other suit pointing his pistol at the waiter. He transferred his aim to the bartender and pulled the trigger. Another shot rang out and silence reigned once again over the jazz quarter of Theseus.

* * *

"They're dropping like flies," muttered Jet to himself. He switched off the news report in disgust.

Spike woke up from his quick nap and stretched. "What's that?"

"Two more deaths of Memphis Blues employees. Witnesses claim men in suits exited the alley with a hostage. The bounty on The Nymph went up another five thousand woolongs." Spike's expression darkened.

"They're going about this all wrong. The employees of The Memphis Blues don't have the foggiest idea who she is," groused Spike.

"You spent an hour in her presence," Faye piped up from her corner of the living area. "Didn't you get her number when you were finished?"

"Ha, ha," the frizzy haired bounty hunter growled. In an undertone that only Jet was supposed to hear, Spike added, "Bitch."

"Who? Me or the bountyhead?" Faye asked innocently.

"The Nymph at least gave me something nice to remember her by," snapped Spike.

"All right, children!" Jet raised a hand to silence the two. "You'd think you were siblings the way you carry on." The two younger bounty hunters looked scandalized by the very thought. "So what are we going to do?"

"Hit a library!" crowed Ed, making a beeline for her computer by the couch. Where she'd been was anyone's guess. Ed knew more about hiding places on the Bebop than anyone else. Jet was never sure if that was a good thing or not.

Spike's attention was arrested from his sparring with Faye. "What did you say?"

Ed looked at him sadly, as if she were ashamed he was that dense. "A library is a place where information is stored, usually through analog material such as books. Books are -"

"I hate females, no matter their age," snarled Spike, making a half-hearted swipe at Ed, who squealed in delight and bounced away from his reach. "What the hell are you babbling about, Ed?"

"Computer terminals are scarce in Theseus," Ed dutifully reported. "Anyone wanting to do the kind of research required for the amount of authenticity that The Memphis Blues is reported to have likely would have been camped out in the library doing research. There are free public terminals at the Theseus Public Library, as well as an impressive collection of books."

At Spike's blank expression, Faye sarcastically added, "Books are these bound pieces of paper that have words printed on them in a formation called sentences. Sentences strung together can relay helpful information for many subjects like science, literature, history, and - Hey! Where are you going?"

Spike sprang from the couch like he'd been poked in the rear with a pin and darted for the door of the living area, obviously intent on going somewhere. "The library. You know, where they store books?"

Jet grinned as both Ed and Faye gave identical 'humphs'.


	4. Chapter 4

The Theseus Public Library was a five story building that was a giant in a sea of midgets compared to the single or double story buildings around it. The building housed not only the library but also a small community center and a tiny auditorium theater. Not a bookish person, Spike rarely entered a library for the purpose of seeking knowledge or entertainment. Any recreational reading he did consisted of a magazine picked up randomly at a convenient mart, martial arts manuals, or a bit of research on the hunt for a bounty head. He'd even broken open a mechanics manual once or twice to fix his modified racer starship, Swordfish. Technically, his current trip to the library was for research on a bounty head but this time he had an ulterior motive as well.

Ambiance.

Here in this building filled with musty books and old vids, Rina the Nymph and her partner Radney Acren created The Memphis Blues. They found the props, the songs, food recipes, costume ideas, and the whole atmosphere of a 1920s cellar speakeasy within these walls. Since his one night stand with the alluring siren, Spike found he couldn't stop thinking, and worrying, about her. Freed from his violent past with the Red Dragon Syndicate and the shadow of his and Julia's love affair, Spike discovered he was _enjoying_ life for the first time. He now saw the world around him through different eyes. He'd dwelled on Julia for so long that, even though her death had been painful and heartbreaking, he felt free now that she and Vicious shuffled off their mortal coils.

Spike must have been standing in the main lobby of the library with a dumbfounded look on his face, for a small mousey man with a squeaky wheeled cart filled with books stopped in front of him. "Excuse me, sir, can I help you?" He was young, a few years younger than Spike anyway, and his face was open and friendly.

"Uh, yeah," he said, trying to act casual now that he'd been caught gawking like a schoolboy in a whorehouse, "I'm looking for information on a subject. I'm," he coughed in embarrassment, "I'm not familiar with libraries, I'm afraid, and -"

"Our catalog system can be accessed at the terminals." The young man gestured to a bank of computers along one of the walls. "Or, if you prefer, the reference department can help you find what you need." The young man pointed to a long desk with quite a crowd waiting patiently for their turn.

"Reference? Yeah, that'd be perfect." Spike gave the other man a polite nod and continued toward the large desk at the far corner. A huge sign over it said "Reference Department".

About a half dozen people were busy behind the counter with several helping library visitors with computer terminals. Spike waited patiently behind an elderly woman, who smiled tentatively at him before it was her turn. When Spike finally had his turn he knew more about where to find books on geriatric sexual practices than he really wanted to know. The young librarian seemed to share his opinion.

"I hate it when she comes in," the young woman muttered and then pinkened when Spike chuckled. "I'm sorry. What can I help you with?"

"I'm interested in information regarding the 1920s," Spike told her. "Specifically the culture and music?" The librarian narrowed her gaze suspiciously at him and he gave her his most guileless expression. "I'm trying to find new reading material to while away the time in space and thought I'd flip through some books, note them and then buy copies later."

"You've been to The Memphis Blues, haven't you?" the librarian asked knowingly.

Spike grinned. "Yeah, the whole thing kind of inspired me."

The woman relaxed a bit and smiled back. "You aren't the first, but I thought you might have been a bounty hunter. We've had a lot of them this morning, digging around looking for clues to The Nymph. Like someone that glamorous would work here." She shook her head in exasperation. Spike, though, was thinking a mousy librarian was the perfect hiding place for someone like The Nymph. "The fourth floor is our culture section. If you turn right after exiting the elevator you should run into the shelves. Around 740 or so is the spot you want."

There was a gasp from behind him and then the quick patter of retreating footsteps. Just as Spike was turning around, there was a loud crash and several voices exclaiming their alarm.

"Rina! I didn't see you!"

"Rina, are you all right?"

"Or," the reference librarian said in a dry tone, "you could ask Nerina. She's our resident expert on anything after the 1600s Earth and beyond."

Another Rina. There was no way it could be a coincidence. "Thanks!" Spike told the woman and headed for the commotion.

A woman with an upswept elegant hairstyle, no make-up and ultra-conservative clothing was being helped to her feet from the floor where she'd been knocked down after her tumble with a familiar looking book cart. The young man who'd initially helped Spike was beside her, still apologizing about the accident. Books and vid-screens littered the floor.

The woman looked up in time to see Spike heading her way. Her eyes widened in alarm and she pulled from her co-worker's grasp with a hasty apology. "I'm fine, I'm okay, I'm sorry, I'm going to lunch," she stammered, before turning around and fleeing for the back exit.

Spike followed, catching up to her in the employee parking lot. She was fumbling with the keys to her dingy vehicle when Spike's long legs brought him up short beside her. Gently, he took the keys from her and leaned in to whisper in her ear. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She squeaked and jumped away from him, eyes still wide with fear, her chest heaving as she tried to pull in air.

"I want to help you. You are in a lot of trouble, Rina."

She turned her head away for a moment and then looked back at him, eyes flashing. "No kidding!" she snapped. "Why are you following me, Spike Spiegel?"

Spike regarded her for a second before replying. "I'm a bounty hunter, but," he added when she swore and took another step back away from him, "I know you are innocent."

"And you know this how?" Rina asked suspiciously, propping her hands on her hips.

Spike grinned, unlocked her vehicle door and stood back. "Trust me, I know the guilty when I see them. If you weren't innocent, I wouldn't be letting you go. Nothing stands in the way of me and a bounty, not even a beautiful woman."

She harrumphed but relaxed. "All right," she conceded, "but I'm in deep trouble here. I don't know what to do."

"Tell me everything," he demanded, stepping up to her and tracing a long finger down her cheek. Tears welled in her big brown eyes and the whole sordid tale of the night before spilled forth. By the time she finished, Spike was holding her tight and thinking hard. This was, indeed, bad.

"We need to get you someplace safe," Spike told her. "Other than last night, you have no connection to me. You can take refuge on our ship."

Rina pulled back enough to glare at him with narrowed eyes. He grinned back. "You'll love it. Jet named her Bebop."

Rina gave a startled laugh. "With a name like that, how can I refuse?"

* * *

Faye and Ed cleared one of the extra quarters normally used for random storage for Nerina's use while she was on the Bebop. Jet and Spike were in the communal room, waiting for the ladies' return. Neither said a word when Rina finished telling the rest of the Bebop crew her story and left with Faye and Ed. Now the two bounty hunters evaluated the situation.

"Are you nuts?" Jet asked Spike with a mild tone. Spike hiked an eyebrow at him. "You just got _out_ of a Syndicate and trouble involving a Syndicate woman. Now this?"

Spike immediately bristled. "Rina is nothing like Ju-"

"I can see that," Jet snapped. "From what you said of Julia, some of that mess you brought down on your own head. This is a completely different kettle of fish." Spike continued to scowl at him. "I'm not saying we shouldn't be helping her but you barely survived loving Julia and all that came with it. You're a sucker for a hard-luck woman."

Spike grunted, acknowledging the truth of Jet's words. He honestly couldn't argue with that assessment. "She's not Julia, Jet, and the enemy is no Vicious. Rina's an innocent caught up in some game that she doesn't know anything about." Spike frowned. "I think the bar owner, Radney, had something to do with it though." Spike glanced to the door to make sure the women hadn't come back from settling Rina in to her new bunk.

"He's dead," pointed out Jet. "That normally would have ended the matter. What does an out of the loop branch of the Red Dragon Syndicate want with her? The debt, so to speak, has been paid, assuming that was the motive to start with."

"That's what we need to find out," Spike stated.

"We?" Jet raised an eyebrow.

Spike grinned at a cocky grin at his partner. "You'd never turn down a lady in distress, Jet. Witness Faye."

"Faye is about as helpless as a rabid dog. Your Rina is a whole other ball of wax." Spike continued to grin at the grizzled former ISSP officer. "You're right. I'm not turning her away."

"So this means we're helping her, right?" Both men turned to see Faye standing in the doorway, hip against the doorjamb and arms folded akimbo. A cigarette hung lazily between her lips, unlit. "Surely there's a nice bounty on the guys framing her? Or will be, once this gets cleared up?"

"Maybe," Spike agreed carelessly. "Why do you care?"

Faye's green eyes narrowed and Spike belatedly remembered how Faye's debts came to her through a swindle and fake death following her own awakening from cyrogenic sleep. "Because," the female bounty hunter growled, "I know a con victim when I see one." She smirked suddenly. "Having swindled and been swindled myself."

Both Jet and Spike grinned back. "All right," conceded Jet, hands up in surrender. "We'll help her."

Ed, followed closely by Ein, chose that moment to come screeching into the room with an excited shriek of joy. Ed blinked at everyone for a moment, then plopped her virtual reality goggles over her eyes and mentally vanished into her computer hacking matrix. No one commented. There was no need; it was just Ed's way.

After Spike's recuperation, a bounty hunt brought the Bebop back to Earth. Within two days both Ed and Ein were on the landing deck, bowls in both their mouths, bellies rumbling and their faces sporting pathetic expressions. Wordlessly, Spike, still bandaged from his fight with Vicious and the Red Dragon Syndicate under Vicious' command, allowed them in. Jet discovered later that Ed's father wound up flattened, standing right in the middle of the bulls eye by one of the very meteor showers he was obsessed with mapping. Orphaned now instead of just abandoned, Ed returned to the only home she'd ever known, the Bebop, with Ein faithfully following her as always. There was occasionally something more grown-up about her, though, that the adult Bebop crew noticed, but it was fleeting.

Faye lit her cigarette in the ensuing silence, breaking Spike's reverie. "Okay, so now what?"

"She needs clothes," mused Jet.

"We need to find out if Nerina Karakinos can be connected to The Memphis Blues in any way," added Spike, grabbing the cigarette from Faye before she could take a good drag. She scowled at him.

"I can, if they look deep enough." Jet, Spike, and Faye looked at Rina, who came in behind Faye and sat primly on one corner of the sofa. "I co-signed the original loan agreement regarding the building about seven years ago. I also co-signed a loan about four years ago for some refurbishment of the electrical and water systems to bring it up to code and for our purposes. It may not look it, but The Memphis Blues is actually very high-tech. The loans have been long since paid off but, through paper trail, it's the only thing that links my name in anyway to The Memphis Blues and The Nymph."

"Where's the paperwork?" asked Jet with a frown.

Rina sighed, tugging on an escaped lock of hair trailing over her cheek. "My apartment. I have both copies. Rad was a heavy gambler at the time. I have the deeds, loan documents, everything. We both figured if he didn't have possession of them, he couldn't gamble them away. After he kicked the addiction, where the papers were didn't matter so much, so we left them."

"So only the banks have your signature on file for the loans?" Faye asked. Rina nodded.

Spike grunted. "Well, unless whoever's behind this has links in the banking system, or hackers as good as Ed here," he gestured at the oblivious teenager, "you're okay from that angle."

Jet looked steadily at Rina. "I'd still feel better if we had your copies in our hands. I'll send Faye and Edward to your place to get you some clothes and those papers. I'm going to contact some of my ISSP buddies and see what's coming to them across the cortex. You and Spike stay here and stay out of sight."

"What about my work?" Rina frowned in concern.

"Do you have time off you can use?" Spike asked her.

Rina nodded. "Yes, some. I just used a bunch though with the new show, but I have some."

"Take 'em. Make it an emergency. Right now staying alive is more important than your job. Plus, it will hopefully keep any trouble coming your away from your coworkers." Rina's face whitened and her features pinched. Obviously, she had not considered that possibility.

"I'll call in."

"You also need to think about why the Red Dragon Syndicate would be attempting to extort Radney. Normally even the little leagues of the Syndicate would ignore The Memphis Blues. Something about the establishment or Radney pointed them in your direction," Spike told her.

Rina nodded once more, her brown eyes haunted. She turned to Faye. "Grab what you think I'll need in my bedroom. At the piano, if you close the keyboard cover, push the button in the center front of the keyboard. It will release a latch on the right hand side to reveal my cubby hole." She gave a tremulous, brave smile. "It about killed me to make that hole, but I'm glad I did. It will be like a safe. Inside are all my important papers as well as a wad of emergency cash. Grab it too."

"Right." Faye walked over and bonked Ed on the head with the flat of her hand.

"Whaaaat," whined Ed, tilting her head back to stare up at Faye.

"Road trip. You're coming with me." Ed screeched her delight in decibels that made Ein whine in misery.

"Oh and Faye?" Faye stopped and turned to look at the other woman. "On my couch is a package. It's a new costume. Can you grab it for me? It's..." She shrugged, unable to speak any further.

"Yeah, sure, I'll grab it." Faye tossed her a carefree smile of assurance and followed a joyful Ed out the door.

Ein padded over and plopped himself directly in front of Rina. With a fond smile, Rina submitted to the power of fuzzy and reached down to pet the dog. Jet grunted. "I'm going too. Pick her brains, Spike. Anything, even something small, could be significant."

Spike rolled his eyes but didn't respond. It wasn't as if he didn't know the routine. Once the room was cleared of everyone except Ein, Rina and Spike, Rina turned to Spike, squared her shoulders and said, "What do you need to know?"


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Faye and Ed reached Nerina's apartment, Faye was a wreck and Ed was practically vibrating with excitement at the outing. "She's a nice lady, isn't she, Faye-Faye?" purred Ed as they clambered from Faye's ship, Redtail.

"Seems to be," Faye answered, closing the hatch securely and activating the security system. This was Theseus, you could never be too careful.

"And Spike is sweet on her too!" Ed confided in the loudest tone possible. She pirouetted around.

Faye felt her stomach clench, whether from Ed's announcement or the kid's dizzying spin, she wasn't certain. "Come on, Ed, we have to hurry. Be inconspicuous."

Ed stopped spinning and looked at Faye solemnly. Faye was startled for a moment; she'd never seen such a serious expression on Ed's face before. Despite her normal attitude something on Earth forced Ed to grow up just a little. "There's nothing inconspicuous about us, Faye-Faye."

Faye's lips lifted in a genuine smile. "I know, kid, but we can pretend."

Nerina's apartment building looked like all the other buildings around it: ready to collapse at any moment. The painted brick was peeling and pockmarked as if from bullet holes. The windows were gray and grimy. The two female bounty hunters climbed the stairs to the top floor after discovering the elevator did not work.

"This is how she stays in shape," huffed Faye as they walked down the hall to apartment 312. She inserted Rina's key into the lock and stepped into feminine luxury. "The outside may look like shit," Faye murmured, "but the inside is straight out of a harem!"

Sensuality was definitely the prevailing detail. Rich jeweltones feasted the eyes. Silk wallpaper, draperies and furniture seemed to glitter like fine gems among the woodwork. Plush rugs covered the bulk of the hard wood floor. Faye and Ed's feet seemed to sink into the cushiony lushness. Though the shelves were not cluttered there was a goodly amount of items to look at, each placed to it's best advantage among its neighbors. A gleaming black mini grand piano stood by the window where sheet music stood out in contrast, black notes on white paper on the black piano.

Faye walked past a slack-jawed Ed to the piano, her fingers running reverently over the glistening keys. Did she remember how to play? It had been so long ago...

Hesitantly Faye sat and experimentally ran through a warm up exercise. So far, so good. Ed wandered over and stood beside her, watching with fascination. Taking a deep breath, Faye began to play a simple piece, hauntingly beautiful in it's simplicity. When she'd finished, she let the last note die away on it's own. She glanced uncertainly at Ed, only to find the teenager staring at her wide-eyed and awestruck.

"Oh," breathed Ed enraptured. "That was pretty."

"Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, First Movement," shrugged Faye, embarrassed that not only she remembered the joy of playing, but the song as well. "A bit cliche but it was always one of my favorites. Has kind of a blues sound to it, to my way of thinking." Faye closed the cover and pushed the button as Rina instructed. A tiny click to her right told Faye that she'd found the hidden hole. She reached around and into the tiny safe, pulling out several envelopes and folded papers. She tucked them into the duffle in Ed's hands. "Let's get her clothes."

Eager now to see if the bedroom was as gorgeously decorated as the living room, Faye and Ed entered it.

"Okay, now I'm just depressed," Faye announced, taking in the canopied bed with the rich purple coverings. Lilac curtains with dark purple and gold embroidery hung from the windows. The embroidery design was copied on the bed curtains and canopy. The bed spread and pillow covers were of identical dark purple and giant fluffy throw pillows of the same lilac hue adorned with gold and lilac tassels were tossed in casual abandon at the head of the bed. Art nouveau paintings and prints hung on the walls, similar to the living room.

A small cosmetic table by the window held perfume bottles in a variety of crystalline colors. Tiny powder jars and bowls were jumbled on one side, while several little tall wicker baskets holding brushes and handled poofs littered the other side. Tucked inside the mirror's edge were a few movie tickets, playbills from The Memphis Blues and one photo of Nerina and a goofy looking man in the most godawful shirt Faye had ever seen. She snatched these, wanting to remove any evidence connecting the resident of this apartment to The Memphis Blues.

Ed and Faye resisted the urge to snoop overmuch as they gathered the toiletries and clothes Nerina would need aboard the Bebop. Both girls sent longing looks at the bed one last time as they exited the bedroom. Ed poked her head into the tiny kitchen, oohing and aahing. Faye didn't want to know and headed for the pile of mail on the elegant sofa. She gathered everything and lastly placed the small package containing The Nymph's latest costume in the bag on top of everything else. She zipped it closed and yelled for Ed.

"Ed, stop gawking and let's go!" Faye jerked open the front door and came face-to-face with 'a suit'.

"Going somewhere?" the suited man asked calmly, reaching for the satchel.

"Ready to go!" Ed popped up next to Faye and the suit halted his movement, a look of confusion marring his even, bland features. Ed stared him with undisguised curiosity.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the suit said, moving out of the way. "I must have the wrong apartment."

Faye, outwardly calm but inside her heart beating a punishing tattoo, locked the door as she asked, "Who were you looking for?"

"Lady named Rina," the suit began but he stopped when Faye gave a deep-throated chuckle that to her ears sounded forced.

"She must be something," Faye told him. "My sister and I have had to tell several guys in the past few months that she doesn't live here anymore."

The man's brow furrowed in consternation and he glanced from Ed to Faye. Ed gave him a loopy grin and an eye roll. "I see," he commented uncertainly. "I'm sorry for disturbing you and your sister. You, uh, wouldn't happen to know where this Rina moved to?"

Faye forced out another laugh. "No, but don't worry about it. Won't be the first time one of her admirers comes here looking for her and probably won't be the last. Now if you'll excuse us, we have to go." She gave him a wink before she and Ed headed down the hall. Ed slammed through the stairwell door and as Faye stepped into the stairwell herself, she chanced a glance at the suit behind her. He was staring in perplexion at the apartment number on the door. She allowed the door to close with a final thunk behind her and followed Ed quickly down the stairs. Soon Ed, Faye and the duffel bag were securely within the snug cockpit of the Redtail, heading toward the safety of the Bebop.

* * *

"Black suit, huh?" Spike looked thoughtful but unsurprised. Jet was scowling more than usual and Nerina looked petrified. "Well, they suspect you as being The Nymph, but Faye's little charade may have given them pause on where you live. Unless they actually break in and start pawing through stuff, they're likely, for now at least, to go looking elsewhere." Rina didn't look comforted by that thought.

"If they do break into the apartment and dig around, they'll know Faye and Ed lied. They'll also know the two of them have a link somehow to The Nymph," Jet pointed out. "They should lie low as well."

Faye frowned at that announcement but had been watching Nerina's reaction. She had no doubts the other woman's fear and confusion was genuine, but she also realized that what was missing in the apartment was equally suspicious. "There were no real personal items in that apartment anywhere." Nerina looked at Faye, puzzled. "No photos of family or friends, other than this." She drew out the photo she found in the mirror in the bedroom. Nerina's face blanked, betraying nothing. "I took the few souvenirs of The Memphis Blues on the mirror but there was nothing from your school, your family, nothing."

Everyone looked at Nerina. "Neither do any of you, I've noticed," she defended in a calm tone. "But if they dig deep enough, they'll find things in the desk drawer and such. Old bills, mail, I have photo albums in my closet on the shelf."

"She's just not as sentimental as you, Faye," Spike said with a smirk in Faye's direction. Alarm bells were, however, going off in Spike's head. Nerina was a sentimental, romantically inclined woman, any fool could see that. That sensitivity usually manifested with mementos and the like which, as Faye pointed out, were missing. That was out of character with the traits and personality Spike knew Nerina possessed. To Spike's way of thinking, and likely Faye and Jet's, that screamed something more sinister below Nerina's innocent surface. There was always a reason someone distanced themselves from family and friends.

"Well," said Jet, slapping his knees and standing up. "My buddies at ISSP haven't heard anything other than The Nymph is wanted for questioning. No major pressure is being made at this time, but if whoever's behind this starts getting desperate, the bounty could start anteing up outside the usual channels of law enforcement."

At Nerina's confused look, Spike clarified, "Private bounties. They are rare but they do happen. They are also usually an enormous amount of money."

"In the meantime, you'll stay with us for as long as you need. I'd originally thought you'd stay a week or so and then we'd get you out, maybe to Mars or Earth. My contacts, though, say that the bounty information is system wide and not specific only to Oberon or even the other moons of Uranus." Jet gave Rina a reassuring smile, his grizzled features softening. "We'll get this figured out, don't you worry."

Nerina relaxed and gave them all a brilliant, Nymph smile. Spike sucked in a breath, tamping down his sudden surge of desire. "Thank you all. I wish there was a way I could repay you."

"You can help redecorate my bunk," suggested Faye, her eyes glazing over at the thought of such lush decor like Rina had in her apartment crammed into her own tiny quarters.

"Can you cook?" asked Jet hopefully at the same time.

"Sing me a song!" demanded Ed. Ein barked but there was no deciphering his request.

Rina laughed. "I can do all those things, starting with dinner and a song. Ed, you can help me prepare dinner and I'll sing while we work, okay?" She threw Jet an inviting smile. "Show me the kitchen and I'll cook up a feast."

Spike watched as Rina took Jet's gallantly offered arm and quirked a grin of his own. He glanced at Faye, only to find the purple haired minx watching him with an inscrutable expression. "What?" he asked, as Jet and Nerina's voices faded down the hall. Ed long since vanished in her eagerness to help.

Faye raised a delicately arched eyebrow and shrugged. "Nothing." She gave him a slow look over, head to toe, and Spike fought the urge to squirm. Faye could be disturbingly canny sometimes. Too canny, it seemed, for she smiled knowingly and sauntered away.

* * *

Jet laughed. In the few short hours since Nerina Karakinos came aboard the Bebop, the whole ship had a turn around in attitude. Two doors down from where Jet kept his bonsai trees, Nerina and Ed were cooking. As promised, as she cooked and Ed helped, Rina sang a range of songs for Ed's pleasure. Jet's too, he had to admit. Her voice was astonishing and she could boast a broad repertoire of musical knowledge. There were typical children's songs, of which Ed knew some and sang along with off-key gusto, like "How Much For That Doggie in the Window" and "Frere Jaques". Others were traditional ballads like "Scarborough Faire" or "Greensleeves". Occasionally though, The Nymph would poke through and a jazzy little number reverberated down the hall. Without the lights, special effects and ambience, "Dance Around in Your Bones" was merely a cute little song with funny lyrics, not the romp it was the night before on stage. It was obvious that Nerina's love for music went beyond jazz and blues.

"Okay, Ed," Jet heard Rina say. "Go get cleaned up and tell Jet and Faye that dinner is ready in fifteen minutes. I'll go find Spike."

"But Rina," Ed began in a whining voice.

"Clean. You are filthy. At least wash your hands and feet and try to brush your hair." Rina's tone, though stern, contained a motherly quality that Ed seemed to respond to. Jet watched with amusement as the little scamp went whizzing by, only to screech to a halt and backtrack to his door.

"Rina said food in fifteen minutes and you have to be clean." Ed emphasized the word 'clean'.

"Right, clean," Jet repeated, putting down his trimming shears. Ed careened away again and Jet did as he was told.

* * *

"Hey you."

Spike turned around in mid-kata to face the door, melding the move into a graceful pirouette instead of the blunt kick it normally was. He enjoyed the fluidness of jeet kune do, the martial arts style created and made popular by Bruce Lee in the last century. It was the only time he felt graceful in his tall, lanky body.

Rina stood in the doorway of Spike's workout room, the light of the corridor behind her revealed her as being flush-faced from cooking. She looked girl next door pretty. "Finish up. Dinner will be on the table in a few minutes."

Spike nodded and finished the last few moves of his exercise. "Did Ed help you make the whole thing?" he asked, picking up a towel and wiping sweat from his brow and bare chest. He felt oddly self-conscious with her in the darkened room. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen him mostly naked before.

"You have time to make yourself presentable." He grinned in amusement at the idea of a somewhat formal eating atmosphere aboard the Bebop. It was apparent Nerina had never seen Ed eat.

"Great." He snagged his shirt off a nearby crate and shrugged into it. "Your bunk is okay?" She smiled. He frowned. "What's so funny?"

"It's very nice," she told him.

He laughed. "You are very diplomatic."

"Very nice compared to where I could be," she pointed out philosophically. She approached him and reached out a hand. His shirt was still open and her index finger trailed down his chest, circling the scars that bullets and knives left behind. "You've lived a hard life, haven't you, Spike Spiegel?"

"I suppose." He grabbed her hand and drew it up to his lips, kissing her palm with butterfly kisses. "I've never really given it much thought. It's just life."

"But you never found any joy in it." It wasn't a question, merely a very accurate observation. She moved against him, just as turned on by their closeness as he was.

Spike's brown eyes bore deeply into hers. "Just in the things you shouldn't find joy in." His lips brushed hers briefly once, twice, before he moved away. He kept hold of her hand. "You seem to be resilient, finding happiness in what you do and where you go." He smiled at her, remembering the silly tunes she sang for Ed as they cooked. The whole ship reverberated with her talent.

Her smile turned wistful. "Not happy per se, but a contentment, I suppose. Sometimes that has to be enough."

"We're like two ships passing in the night," Spike teased and, to his surprise, she gave a deep-throated chuckle. "What's so funny?"

"Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence. " Nerina spoke the words of the beautiful poem and Spike felt his throat close up with emotion.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"Henry Wadsworth Longfellow." She stepped into the circle of his arms and nuzzled her nose against the skin of his chest. "Rather appropriate for us, though our 'night' might be a bit longer than a few hours."

"Yeah," Spike pondered it. "I guess so."

Rina drew back from his embrace, her brow furrowed. "Spike, I have an idea that-"

"Is the chicken supposed to be that color?" hollered Jet from the kitchen.

Nerina squeaked in alarm and tore out of Spike's arms. She darted through the door and disappeared down the hall. Spike shook his head and made his way out of the room as well, heading for the shower. He couldn't help but laugh to himself when he heard her tell Jet in exasperation, "It's called Blackened Chicken for a reason, Jet Black. Haven't you ever had Cajun food before?"

By the time Spike cleaned up Rina had wrought a miracle. The scarred and battered table was neatly set with a faded blue cloth she found who knows where and their chipped dishes and mismatched utensils arranged like orderly little soldiers. Bowls and platters of food steamed a mouthwatering aroma throughout the Bebop. In fact, there was so much food that Spike had to wonder where she'd gotten it to begin with, let alone to the table unsampled.

Faye was dressed in neat pants and a respectable shirt instead of her usual comfortable but trashy-looking outfit. Ed's hair was somewhat tamed and, though shoeless, it looked as if the teenager even changed into cleaner clothes. Ed's manner was tamed, though she was starting to fidget in her chair. Jet, for his part, changed into his khaki pants and white shirt, leaving the sleeves rolled down. He'd foregone a tie but he too looked neat and tidy compared to what he usually looked like. The air of tenacity and violence around the older man was contained, giving the former law officer an almost domestic mien. Nerina too wore different clothes, a nice little green jumpsuit, with slashes in the material to show yellow and red beneath it. She looked to Spike like a cheerful Christmas ornament. With Spike also in clean clothes, freshly scrubbed from his workout, the atmosphere was as formal as you were going to find from the crew of the Bebop.

Jet held a chair out for Faye, who sat in it with the air of a queen. Spike, rarely having the opportunity to use the manners he'd learned so long ago, mimicked Jet's maneuver for Nerina, who smiled at him and sat. Spike glanced down to see Ein, freshly brushed from the looks of his coat, eating a full bowl of dog food. The bowl even looked clean.

"This looks delicious," Faye told Rina as she began loading her plate and passing what she'd already partaken.

"I thought I'd show off my culinary skills before reducing you to sandwiches and ramen," teased Rina, accepting the garlic potatoes from Spike.

"I like bell peppers and beef," Spike hinted broadly, helping himself to the chicken that did indeed resemble something borderline charred. The smell from the chicken though was about to kill him. Jet passed him the chipped bowl of carrots. "Where'd you get the food?"

Jet coughed. "I, er, bought it." Everyone but Nerina looked at him. "She paid for it. You think I have money?"

"It was just this one splurge. We won't eat quite this fancy every night," Nerina told them starchily.

"Beef's expensive." Jet's tone was repressive. "More so than chicken."

"But you can make large quantities of bell peppers and beef cheaper than this meal." Nerina dimpled at Spike, who smirked at Jet.

The meal continued, the atmosphere light, everyone chatting and laughing, teasing each other. It was as if Rina's presence made the misfit crew of the Bebop realize they were a family, dysfunctional though that was. Spike pondered the change in the four of them, five if you counted the dog, and studied Rina's manner. It was practiced, polished but natural, as if she'd known how to diffuse tense situations in such a formal setting as a dinner party since childhood.

Spike met enough so called 'trophy wives' during his time with the Syndicate to know a woman trained to be a pretty object and hostess and nothing else when he saw one. Nerina displayed all the talents inherent in the breed. This, Spike realized, was the a major clue to Nerina's past. Was she a displaced debutante, perhaps from the Athens side of Oberon?

"You were saying earlier that you had an idea?" Spike prompted the lovely woman across from him. He cut into his chicken, briefly marveling at the juiciness of the meat inside the crispy, seasoned outer layer.

Rina swallowed her bite of chicken and put the fork down gently. "Yes." She squared her shoulders as if gearing herself for battle. "I think I should come forward and confess I'm The Nymph."

Both Jet and Faye's jaws dropped. Ed stopped chewing and cocked her head to one side in much that same manner as Ein. Ein, for his part, whined and buried his nose under his paws. Spike's reaction, in comparison, was mild.

"It was a bad thought. If I were you, I wouldn't have them anymore." He too set his fork down. His mismatched eyes seemed to spark.

"If I come forward-" Nerina started to argue but Jet, finding his voice at last, interrupted her.

"They'll lock you up with false evidence and throw away the key." He glared at her. "And that's assuming they don't just shoot you outright or use you for some other purpose we haven't figured out."

Rina pursed her lips in a decidedly schoolmarm fashion. "I can't hide here, doing nothing, letting those people do who knows what to my friends and employees at The Memphis Blues. The slander, lies, and such will continue, will only get worse."

Faye leaned back in her chair, her expression somber. "We've only just started looking for someone to..." Her voice trailed off and she gave Jet an uncertain glance.

"To what?" Rina demanded. She made a visible effort to calm herself and failed. "I'm sorry. I appreciate that the four of you," Ein barked, "five of you," Rina amended with a glance at Ein, "are going out of your way to help me. I am thankful, really, it's just -" Her voice broke and tears welled in her eyes. The cheerful facade cracked and then splintered. Sobbing from the waves of fear, grief and anger, Nerina scrambled from her seat and out the door. Faye stood up to follow her but Spike stopped her.

"I'll do it. I'm the idiot who played knight errant."

Jet grabbed Spike's arm before the younger man got two steps. "Being a knight errant and saving the lady in distress is nothing to feel idiotic about, Spike."

"It is if you aren't doing much to save her," Spike told him sourly.

"She could be dead right now," Jet told him. "That beautiful, talented woman could be in a bloody, rotting heap in some back alley of this hellhole. You remember that when you berate yourself for not saving her." Jet's face was firm with his conviction. "You did right bringing her here. We may be the only safe place for her right now."

"She's scared and feeling alone." Faye spoke up, her voice thick with emotion. She knew the helplessness that her new friend was feeling. "Her friends are being killed, her whole life is turned upside down for a reason she cannot understand. She's lost, Spike, and being brave takes a lot out of you."

Jet let go of Spike's arm and the younger man started to the door again. He stopped, though, at a new voice with an opinion.

"She not alone," Ed piped up around a mouthful of food. "She's got us."

"You take care of the woman, we'll do the dishes," Jet said as Spike left. Faye wrinkled her nose but didn't argue. Ed continued chewing. Ein barked his agreement.

* * *

Nerina wasn't in her bunk, nor the living room area. After a bit of hunting, Spike found himself standing on the platform above the hangar bay, watching as the brunette wandered around Swordfish, singing. He had to admit, the woman knew the most bizarre songs he'd ever heard.

_Well, be-bop-a-lula, she's my baby_   
_Be-bop-a-lula, I don't mean maybe_   
_Be-bop-a-lula, she's my baby_   
_Be-bop-a-lula, I don't mean maybe_   
_Be-bop-a-lula, she's my baby love_   
_My baby love, my baby love_

_Well, she's the girl in the red blue jeans_   
_She's the queen of all the teens_   
_She's the one that I know_   
_She's the one that loves me so_

"What is that?" he asked, no longer upset but amused.

She turned to him with a sad expression. "One of the first rock and roll songs. Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis and Gene Vincent sang it, among others. I like the lyrics, they're just silly and the tune's catchy."

Spike held out his arms. "Come here." He engulfed her in a hug, rubbing her back in comfort. "You aren't alone, you know. I know it feels that way. We may not have known you as long as some of your friends, but anyone that can get Ed to comb her hair and sit still at the table is obviously one of us. You even got Jet to put on a clean shirt and Faye to dress in something that most prostitutes wouldn't shun."

Rina hiccupped as she laughed. "I didn't mean to sound so childish."

Spike shook her slightly, pushing her away enough to stare into her brown eyes. "Rina, you watched one of your best friends get shot and then were blamed for it. Your other friends are being tormented to give you up for reasons no one can determined. You have a bounty price on your head that is going to have bounty hunters crawling from beneath rocks to collect it. Bawl all you want. I think you're allowed."

She tenderly touched his face, tracing his jawline with her fingertips. They ran up to his eyes, circling the socket that held the cybernetic eye, differentiated by the lighter color. He could see her mind cataloging the different colors and wondering why the procedure had been done. It was a reason he never divulged and for some reason no one really asked about. He could tell she wasn't going to either.

"I always tell people that the fake eye sees the past while the other sees the present, but the truth is-"

Nerina placed her hand over his mouth. "The truth is it mattered to you once, but now it doesn't anymore. Whatever was in the past has completed it's circle and you are on a new path."

His eyes narrowed as he looked closely at her. "Are you psychic?"

She laughed in surprise. "No, I'm a blues singer. There's something inherent in reading peoples woes that comes with the territory. Like finds like and all that."

"Ships passing in the night," Spike concluded, using the earlier analogy. He shook his head in disbelief, pulling her back into his arms and putting his chin on the top of head.

"Spike," she said in a small, hesitant voice, slightly muffled against his chest. "I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"It's only been a day, Rina," Spike told her. He sat on the metal crate behind him, burying his face in her waist. "I know it seems like a long time already, but you have to regroup, make plans." He chuckled suddenly. "I can't believe I just told someone else to be patient."

She threaded her fingers through his shaggy mop of hair. The spicy scent of his shampoo wafted to her nose, pure male and powerful. "Not a patient man?" she teased.

"Not normally, no." His fingers danced over her body, delving into the open nooks of her clothes to find exposed skin. Spike knew he shouldn't do this, that it wasn't gentlemanly to take advantage of a distressed woman. It had been so long, though, since he wanted a woman this way, this badly. From the little gasp of desire from her, it didn't seem as she minded being taken advantage of.

"Spike," Rina murmured. She straddled his hips and their lips fused in a kiss hot enough to heat the box Spike sat on white hot.

Vaguely both of them heard footsteps approaching and then quickly retreat. Neither bothered to look and see who it was or what they wanted. Hands roamed, igniting the fire into a roaring inferno. Never a wilting flower, Rina jerked Spike's shirt open, popping buttons as she did so. Spike laughed softly and returned the favor, finding the laces on her suit and opening them with elegant flicks of his long fingers. He gave her one more opportunity to pull away. "You sure wanna do it here?"

The smile she gave him was a siren's song. "Couldn't think of a more appropriate place to ride a space cowboy."

Spike laughed again, throwing his head back. He felt her lips and teeth nibbling on his exposed throat. "A wanton in sheep's clothing," he murmured, angling for another open mouth kiss.

Nerina leaned down and suckled on one of his tightening nipples. The time for talking was past done and she was all business. Spike couldn't argue with that sentiment and began kneading her breasts beneath the exposed bra. Slowly they undressed each other, nibbling, biting, licking and kissing skin as it was revealed. Spike was more thorough than he'd been in their frantic coupling in her dressing room the night before, savoring each touch, each gasped breath. He grabbed a tarp and spread it out beneath the belly of Swordfish to give them illusion of privacy. He lay her on her back but she fought him.

"No, not in such a mundane matter," she told him with a pout. Spike raised a questioning eyebrow when she turned around on all fours. It didn't take him long to catch what she wanted and wholeheartedly agreed with her.

He didn't need to prep her; he could smell her arousal, as erotic as anything he'd scented. Spike gripped the nape of her neck and leaned over her as he sank his cock into her soft heat. If this was Heaven, Spike was willing to die on the spot. If it was Hell, the same. He began to move in a gentle motion, back and forth but Nerina was impatient and wild and soon they were moving at a punishing, mind-blowing pace. When he came, Spike was certain the crown blew off his head. He could feel the undulation of Rina's muscles around him as she reached her orgasm almost at the same time. Her arms collapsed and Spike managed to roll to the side in time to avoid falling on top of her as he pulled out of her warm sheath.

"Oh my God," she panted, turning to face him and nuzzle his shoulder in contentment.

Spike pulled her close to him as he lay on his back on the tarp. "You," he said with a contented yawn, "should have called yourself The Siren, not The Nymph."

Rina stiffened and sat up suddenly. "That's it!"

He blinked groggily at her. "What's it?"

"How to lure out those behind all of this!" Rina scrambled to her feet and began jerking her clothes back on. "Are you always this brilliant after sex?"

Spike frowned as he watched her dress. "Not sure. Never measured my IQ then."

She laughed at his wit, her face alight with enthusiasm. Disgruntled that there would be no more snuggling now that they were spent, Spike rose to dress as well. When he shrugged into his shirt, he left it open, as there was only one button left, hanging on by a single thread.

Rina chuckled. "I'll sew on buttons later. Come on!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him up the hangar steps and back to the kitchen area, where Jet and Faye were finishing up dishes. "Spike is a genius!" Rina announced to them.

Faye barked a laugh even as she eyed the duo's obvious dishabille. "Since when?"

There was a slight flush to Jet's cheeks and he couldn't look Spike directly in the eyes. He obviously was the one to come upon them in the hangar bay.

Spike ignored Faye's comment. "I'm assuming you mean my comment about you being the Nymph and not the Siren?"

Rina nodded. "I can still be the bait but it will be a our trap, under our control."

Faye frowned, putting down the drying towel and a cleaned bowl. "I don't understand."

"Me neither," Spike admitted.

"I get it," Jet said, a pensive look on his grizzled features. "You're thinking another Nymph appearance will draw out these Syndicate guys. We'll set the whole show up to keep you protected while tempting these guys to come after you."

"My civilian identity doesn't need to come into this," she told them. "It'll be The Nymph's last show."

"No." Spike's tone was firm. He didn't think he could put another woman he cared for into such danger again.

Rina gave the three bounty hunters a sad smile. "Part of the pull was working with Radney. We really were a team, like minds and all that. I can't run The Memphis Blues the way he did. I was the creative mind, he was the business. I've no head for numbers and accounting like he was. Might as well go with a big batch of razzle dazzle since The Memphis Blues is pretty much done for."

"You'll need a lot of things," Faye pointed out. "Money being the least of them. And where would you set up a show, practice and stuff without going to the club for rehearsals?"

Nerina's answering smile was almost pure evil. "How many people can we cram into the Bebop?"

Jet's blue grey eyes narrowed; it was obvious he was following Nerina's train of thought with little difficulty. "This is ship is so damned big I don't think any of us know what all is here. We can turn a lot of the empty space into whatever you need."

"And could one of the ships be moved onto the open deck? We'll need room to put up a mock stage as well as make the sets." Rina began pacing as she plotted. It was obvious her mind was whirring with ideas and schemes.

Spike and Faye traded dismayed glances. "Are you proposing we kidnap your band and stage crew?" asked Faye in a skeptical tone.

Jet grinned demonically. "If you've got the cash to feed everyone and buy what's needed..."

Rina returned the grin with equal fervor. "I do, or it can be retrieved easily enough from other sources."

Jet looked at Faye, who was one part aghast at the notion, another part fascinated. "Think about it, Faye. You were just saying you wondered what wearing some of those costumes would be like. Here's your chance."

Rina turned swiftly and critically looked Faye over. "You'd do well dripping with fringe and sparkling with sequins. Can you dance?"

"I can do a few steps," Faye stammered but it was a quick capitulation. "Do I have to sew?" she added with a whine.

"Nope," Rina shook her head. "You're taller than me but we're roughly the same shape otherwise. Some of my costumes should work for you with very little modification."

"Maybe no one heard me say 'no' to this," Spike stated with a growl. He was startled when Rina wrapped herself around him, winding her arms around his neck, total seduction.

"Come on, baby," she purred at him. "When was the last time you were involved in multiple kidnappings?"

Spike looked to Jet, who shrugged. He looked at Faye, who was studiously staring at the ceiling. "Fine," he growled, "but Jet and I are in charge of security. We get final say on everything, including whatever you plan onstage if it makes it hard to protect you and your people. If we say 'no', it stays 'no'. Got it?"

Rina smacked a satisfied kiss on his cheek. "I need Ed's computer," she said with an edge of suppressed excitement. She pelted off to find the wayward teenager, leaving Spike disgruntled, feeling outnumbered and in need of some nuzzle time with his nonce lover.

"This is not a good idea," Spike told Jet.

"But it's better than the nothing we have come up with thus far," Jet shrugged. Faye grinned and followed Nerina out the door. Spike stomped after her, heading for his bunk for a nice sulk.


	6. Chapter 6

"No, Faye, you will always give your partner your right hand. Always the right."

The excitement of dancing on the stage was beginning to pall quickly for Faye Valentine. She blew hair out of her eyes and gave Nerina a baleful look, before taking position again. Mild and easygoing off-stage, when it came to performing, the other woman was an absolute tyrant. She demanded perfection in everything, from the way you stood on stage, left the stage or danced across it. Faye was ready to run away screaming and it was only the third nightmarish day of practice.

"You are a befringed little dictator, you know that?" Faye told her, as she glanced at her feet to make sure she was on the right queue mark for the jive's first position. Above the assembled dancers on the wide catwalk hanging over the hangar bay-cum-makeshift stage, the band readied to run through the tune once more.

Faye looked up at the cheerful countenance of her partner for the dance, Mickey something. She'd forgotten his last name, if she ever knew it. He was handsome enough, in a common sort of way. "She is a right little tyrant," a female dancer, Margot, next to Faye agreed with a laugh, "but once you get it, there's no feeling like in the universe."

"Maybe sex," interjected Mickey with a wink encompassing both women.

Margot seemed to ponder that a moment. "I don't know. It's a tight race."

"You're doing fine, Faye," Nerina assured her. "These are not simple dances even though they look it. And we're thrusting you as a beginner right into the middle of the more difficult aspects of the dances."

"No kidding," Faye grumbled under her breath. The music to play again and Faye swung into movement. She wasn't as sure in her footing as the others yet and felt awkward and clumsy. When the number finished, however, she knew she did everything right. Nerina looked delighted.

"Perfect, Faye! Perfect! Just some more practice to boost your confidence and you're raring to go!" The other woman clapped her hands together to get everyone's attention as they clustered around Faye to congratulate her achievement.

"Does this mean we get a break?" Faye asked hopefully.

"One more time and you guys can finish up the costume fits for this number."

Faye smothered a groan and took position once more. Rina was right though. The dance was beginning to feel more natural to do and a bit fun. Faye took further congratulations and advice from her fellow dancers with aplomb as she hobbled with them to the makeshift sewing room that used to the dining area. She passed by the living room area, peeking in to see Spike, Jet and assorted Memphis Blues waiters, bartenders and bouncers debating security on the floor as well as in between set changes.

Faye liked Nerina. She was fond of Spike, though she'd shoot him before admitting it to his face. It didn't take a genius to figure out they were lovers. The fact that Nerina's bunk was now occupied by multitudes of colorful costumes and smaller props was a dead giveaway that the woman wasn't sleeping there. From the goofy smile on both Nerina and Spike's faces in the mornings, Faye would wager against all her assorted debts and be debt free that the two weren't getting much sleep in Spike's bunk either. What worried her was that whatever was between the two of them was going to cause one, or both, heartbreak. The whole situation wasn't going to end well.

Margot paused with Faye to look in the room as well, her pale blue eyes roving over Spike's lean form consideringly. She giggled. "That Spiegel has a gangster quality to him, doesn't he? All bad boy."

"Probably because he was a gangster and is a bad boy," Faye said drily. "You could say he's retired the Red Dragon Syndicate."

Margot look taken aback at Faye's word usage. "You mean retired from?"

Faye gave her a toothy smile worthy of a shark. "No, he had a former friend who took over the Red Dragons and Spike took him down in return. Technically, there is no Red Dragon Syndicate anymore because Spike finished them off."

Margot glanced over her shoulder back at the entrance to the living room. "So, who are the guys attacking us and why do they want The Nymph?" she asked slowly.

"That is a very good question," Faye agreed with her. "That's what this whole production is about."

"And this guy sleeping with Nymph is going to allow her to make herself as bait without a complaint?" asked Mickey from in front of the two women where he'd been listening to their conversation.

Faye grinned. "He didn't have much choice. Spike's pretty thick-headed but apparently even he knew it was futile beating it against the brick wall that was Ne..Nymph." Nerina cautioned the Bebop crew that The Memphis Blues workers and dancers only knew her as the Nymph and asked that it remain that way. Jet and Spike agreed though Faye thought it was a bit of overkill in keeping a secret identity.

"Hmm," Mickey pondered the information. "Nymph is pretty stubborn." He shrugged and turned the conversation to their wardrobe. "I still think Faye should be in the purple not the green."

* * *

"If we do it that way, there's no way to get the kegs to the front when they're needed," protested one of the remaining bartenders, Harry.

Spike suppressed a sigh, glad Jet was handling the bulk of the front end security. At least the behind the scenes crew was more organized by necessity. The front was difficult entirely due to the customers; you never knew what was going to happen from one moment to the next because of how the customers would ebb and flow around the bar. It also didn't help The Memphis Blues crew that they were down a bartender, a waitress, a bouncer and their boss with three shootings and a kidnapping. One of the band was lost as well, a trombone player, shot but alive in critical condition at Theseus General Hospital. Nerina's rage had been tremendous, even more so when Jet and Spike adamantly refused to let her visit the man. That caused a row the likes of which Spike had never been involved in before with a woman. The make-up sex was spectacular though, he reflected with an outward grin.

His smile faded. Spike knew this was bad news. He was falling for the spunky woman, just as Jet warned him he would. Spike knew that the relationship would go nowhere after everything was done, but he couldn't stop the hammering of his heart, the heady happiness that lifted his spirits when she was near, nor the lightness he felt despite the seriousness of the situation.

"Spike? Could I snag you a moment?" The object of his thoughts popped her head through the doorway, page boy bobbing flirtatiously around her face, making her brown eyes huge in her pixish face.

There were murmured greetings tossed her way from The Memphis Blues people in the room. All were protective and fond of her. Spike nodded at Jet, who nodded back with a resigned expression, before following her down the corridor to his quarters that they now shared. He palmed the door closed behind them and leered down at her. "Usually we take more than a moment, but I'm game for a quickie if you are."

She laughed and hugged his waist briefly. "Fun as that idea sounds, Mister Spiegel, I have something more serious to say."

Spike sobered. "Okay."

"That morning after Rad..." Rina swallowed and looked at her feet. She tried again. "The next morning I wrote down everything I saw in the alley. I didn't know what else to do and had this wild idea that if they kidnapped me or something I could use it as a bargaining chip."

Spike shook his head in disbelief. This woman was amazing in how her brain worked. "You watch too many movies."

"If something happens to me-" she started.

"Over my dead body." Spike's stomach clenched at the thought.

"If it does," Rina persisted, latching dramatically onto his lapels and giving him a shake, "look in the cover of Edgar Rice Burroughs' 'Tarzan of the Apes' at the Theseus Library."

"Tarzan?" Spike had never heard of it. Rina shrugged. "Okay, but nothing is going to happen to you."

She opened the door but paused to look at him over her shoulder before she left. "Nothing is ever certain." Rina walked away, leaving Spike disturbed and alone.

* * *

Despite being 'kidnapped' and 'held hostage' aboard the Bebop, the workers and dancers of The Memphis Blues were taking the whole scheme in stride. Most found it immensely fun and exciting. Others enjoyed the change of scenery and challenges Nerina tossed at them for the new production. Nerina had been blunt to them all. This would be The Nymph's final show but it was going to be a bow out that jazz and blues hounds would remember for years to come.

To gather supplies and props, members of the assembled group slipped out in pairs. Mostly it was for their protection, it was hoped, as well as to keep any spies from reporting to the Syndicate where everyone, including The Nymph, was at. When the posters and billets were finished, the sneaking off ship continued to plaster them all over Theseus.

Spike and Jet spent most of their time off the Bebop sneaking in and out of The Memphis Blues. Both were impressed that the club's shoddy-looking interior and exterior was a well-made facade. When Nerina told them that the club was as state-of-the-art as you'd find on Oberon, she hadn't been exaggerating. Jet was in hog-heaven, Spike spent most of his time trying to figure out where to place people should things go south, and Ed's computer skills rerouted routines and algorithms as needed. In fact, Ed and Ein were the only Bebop crew not going to be at the club the night of the show, something Ed was most put out about. Jet explained that Ed's genius was needed on the Bebop, a safe distance away. She, he told her, would be the final line of defense to protect The Nymph. That seemed to mollify the teenager only slightly.

By the time Nerina was satisfied with the production aspect of the scheme, Jet and Spike were pleased that security was as tight as they could make it. There were still holes but Spike was hopeful that with luck the opportunities to use them would be few and far between in the course of a few hours.

The entire moon of Oberon was buzzing with the news of The Nymph's final performance. Ed caught news broadcasts all the way to Saturn talking about it. The ISSP bounty on The Nymph lapsed without renewal but a bounty by a private source still circulated. Jet's contacts on both sides of law enforcement were reluctant to get involved no matter how steep the reward. Even bounty hunters knew when to avoid a bad setup and this stunk to high heaven. There was always one, though, Jet assured Nerina one evening, that was willing to go against the flow.

The night before the show, everyone on the Bebop was keyed up with nervous excitement. Nerina insisted on a full dress rehearsal, reminding everyone that there would be no way to practice at The Memphis Blues itself. In fact, the doors would not open until one hour before curtain time, instead of being open all day to allow crowds in as it was done in the past. After helping create a sumptuous feast for everyone in thanks for their hard work, Nerina chatted with her companions, easing fears, reassuring nerves, and helping with last minute touchups.

Before heading to bed, dead on her feet, Nerina declared, "Sleep in if you can tomorrow. We'll start loading and packing after lunch."

Spike sat next to Mickey and Jet. He watched her leave the room, one very exhausted woman. "I'll hate like hell to see this end," sighed Mickey wistfully.

"Steady employment?" asked Spike with his usual dose of cynicism..

"That," agreed Mickey, "but that's not the only reason. It's been fun. I've learned alot and I've made good friends."

"She's a pretty hard taskmaster, The Nymph." Spike angled his head to where Rina disappeared.

"You'd know better than us, eh?" Mickey let loose a belly laugh. Spike and Nerina's relationship became a source of amusement and gossip for The Memphis Blues people. The Nymph was well-known for being very closed regarding her personal life.

Deciding to tweak the kid's nose a bit, Spike waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "You kidding? She's a tame little pussycat with me. Only shows her claws when I ask her too."

Jet barked a laugh and The Memphis Blues folks who overheard the exchange looked amused or stunned at Mickey's dumbfounded expression. Spike decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat.

He turned into the corridor and took two steps to come nose to chest with a very amused Nymph. "You are a wicked, wicked man," she whispered.

He grinned. "I don't hear no complaints from you."

"I dig the blues, baby," she told him with a flirtatious look, "I adore men who are bad for me." Rina tossed him a seductive smile as she led the way to his small room.

"Come with us once this is done." Spike said the words he'd been thinking for two days but hadn't meant to speak aloud. He stopped her outside his door, pulling her into his arms and resting his chin on her silky-soft hair.

"We don't know how this will end, Spike."

"We know there will be no more Memphis Blues and no more Nymph," Spike contradicted. "You'll be free, so to speak, at loose ends. We've got the space." Spike struggled with the words he did and didn't want to say. "I..." He cleared his throat, face aflame. "I like you."

Rina drew him down into a soft kiss. "I like you too, cowboy. Why don't we both just start over someplace new, just the two of us? I like Faye and Jet and Ed, but..." She shrugged. "I'm not bounty hunter material, Spike."

Spike stared at the wall, avoiding her eyes. "I can't. Jet's my friend. So's Faye, though I'll deny that with my dying breath. I even find myself protective of the brat and the mutt on occasion. They're my family as much as anyone can be. I tried to leave them once. I won't do it again."

The silence stretched between them, taut like a wire. "Then tomorrow night the two ships called The Nymph and Spike Spiegel will continue on, no longer passing, but now just drifting as they were before," murmured Nerina sadly. She pulled his face around so he was forced to look at her. "You're a good man, Spike Spiegel."

"A good, bad man?" He quirked a brow. "Those two ships still have a few more hours of passing." He pulled her into his quarters and the door slid shut behind them.

Faye stepped into the corridor from the room she darted into when she heard Spike and Nerina approach. "God," she muttered to herself, "life downright sucks more than usual around here." She walked to her own quarters, lighting a well-earned cigarette and wiping away tears as she went.

* * *

If Jet and Spike considered The Memphis Blues jammed to the rafters when they were there before, the condition of the club ten minutes before the curtain rose on The Nymph's final performance gave new meaning to the phrase "standing room only". In point of fact, standing was all anyone could do. There were so many people inside the audience that there were surely a multitude of safety violations. Chairs and tables were being used as makeshift 'balconies' for those too short to see over the heads around them. The two bartenders were a constant blur of motion and the waitresses paths' were easily tracked by the way they held the trays of drinks and food overhead, like so many sharks trolling a sea of bobbing heads.

There was one exception to the lack of seating arrangements; at the very front of the room sat three men in neat suits, sipping soda waters. One was an older man with vague air of familiarity about him, while the other two were roughly in their late 20s or early 30s and easily classified in the 'more muscle than brains' category. When they entered and took their seats, no one argued with them or disputed their coveted location at the front. Spike and Jet traded wary looks and put The Memphis Blues crew on alert.

Spike slipped backstage to find it in a controlled chaos. Well, it looked like chaos to him with everyone rushing about. Faye was the only person standing still, if you discounted the fact she was smoking like a chimney from a case of opening night nerves.

"Nervous?" Spike asked when Faye took a drag so deep she took a good inch off the end of her cigarette. He took it away from her. She was going to need all the oxygen she could get with her exertions tonight.

She gave him a weak smile and her face turned a little greener.

"You'll do fine," he felt obliged to reassure her. "You looked natural at practice last night. You looked great."

She grunted but seemed to relax a little.

"Where's Ri-The Nymph?" Spike corrected himself.

Faye pointed to his left just as Rina emerged from a prop room with three people in tow, discussing some last minute arrangements. Spike crooked a finger at her and she joined he and Faye by the curtain. "The three guys sitting in front, well, the only ones sitting actually. You recognize them?"

The women peeked through the curtains and both took startled steps back. "The blonde was the guy at her apartment," Faye reported grimly.

Spike looked at Nerina and was startled by the expression on her face. It was white under the layer of stage cosmetics. At first he thought it was from terror but when she looked at him, fire burned deep in her dark brown eyes. She wasn't frightened; she was furious.

"That sonuvabitch!" she spat. "God damn him to eternal hell!" She turned on a tap shoe shod foot, her fringe on the blue dress swinging violently with the force of her movement.

Spike and Faye shared looks of alarm. "Who?" Spike demanded.

"Places!" called out the stage manager. Everyone scrambled around to find their marks if they were on stage and to get out of the way of the curtain line if they weren't. Spike followed Rina to her place mark, grabbing her arm. "Who?" he repeated harshly. "Who are you talking about?"

A transformation came over her. The Nymph, the stage presence that erased Nerina Karakinos, appeared before his eyes, but a harsh line still creased her features. "My father." The opening music caught Spike off guard and he just beat the curtain to stage left.

The show had begun and now it was only a question of trying to stay one step ahead of the game.


	7. Chapter 7

The crowd was quiet when the music began. Jet let his eyes roam over the multitude looking for signs of troublemakers, other than the three suits in the front row. He spotted Spike come from the stage area, slowly edging his way to Jet. Spike's hawkish features were grimmer than usual. Whatever he'd found out backstage had not been good.

Jet's eyes were drawn to the movement on the stage. Though he'd watched it countless times as the dancers rehearsed on the makeshift stage in the Bebop's hangar bay, it seemed to be energized differently now. The music was lively, almost primitive sounding, but that's what the jazz hounds who came to The Memphis Blues wanted. They wanted the classics, the old school, the beginnings of jazz and blues. The Lindy Hop was being swung around the stage, intricately weaving the dancers in and out through steps simple and then complicated, depending on their location on the stage. One dancer swung his partner out and when she returned they both bounced up and down into perfect splits that the other dancers nimbly danced over. Another man twirled his partner around his shoulders and head, finishing up by swinging her down between his legs, her sliding on the stage, popping up right behind him and leapfrogging over him before resuming the basic step. The crowd roared its approval. The pace grew frenetic as the music purposefully sped up beyond the original score merely to get the audience's blood pumping.

The dancers finished the Lindy Hop sequences by flipping each other in wild abandon off stage except for Faye and Mickey. The curtains opened slowly to show a bare brick background with lights mimicking flames licking around the dancers. An old-fashioned round microphone lowered from the ceiling and The Nymph stepped forward from where she was left alone by her partner. She started singing a toe tapping little number about going to the Devil, with Faye and Mickey bopping around in the background, both sporting forked tails on the back of their costumes. Another female dancer, Margot, came out toward the end of the song and she and The Nymph did the song in a round, to the amusement and hollers of the appreciative audience.

The lights and curtains shifted a bit more to reveal that the plain brick walls were actually part of a smokey cellar dive that The Memphis Blues emulated. Smoke filtered from special machines on the floor, caressing the stage in a dreamy haze. The music changed to a slow mournful ballad. Faye surreptitiously removed her forked tail, as did Mickey, and they joined a small group of dancers doing a smooth Latin flavor dance that Jet recognized as the close-holding beguine. The song he knew as well, it being a favorite of his, "Begin the Beguine". The Nymph's sultry voice seemed to ease the energetic charge from the crowd, lulling them into a trance-like state, swaying with the dancers in time to the easy rhythm of Cole Porter's popular song.

Jet turned his attention back to the crowd but everyone's eyes were glued to the stage and the lifetime performance of the one and only Nymph. The song reached it's crescendo and Jet turned to Spike, who finally made his way to him. The two bounty hunters put their heads together for a murmured conference. "The old man sitting with the two suits," Spike said disdainfully, "apparently is Nymph's father. I have no idea what's going on and I don't think she does either. I'm going to go backstage and keep an eye out. I'm getting a bad feeling, worse than usual."

Jet frowned at this information and nodded. Having another person backstage to give Nerina support sounded like a good plan. "Begin the Beguine" ended and The Nymph launched into another ballad, her voice hitting the sultry low notes of "April in Paris" as she mimicked the bluesy tones of Sarah Vaughan. The Latin looking dive lightening into a Parisian style bistro as the curtains pulled away left The Nymph surrounded by fake trees and a couple of sidewalk tables and chairs with the male dancers assembled for her to croon at.

Spike made his way backstage from Jet's side of the stage. It was easier and he knew that Nerina's next costume change was on this side. Faye's face was flushed from her exertions when she came over to him. "What's up?" she whispered in his ear when he leaned down. Talking was at a minimum due to how sound carried over the stage mikes.

Spike shook his head to indicate nothing new. He looked up when the mournful wail of the saxophone washed around them. Nerina was dancing seductively and slowly with one of her dancers, a gawky youth named Ben that, she assured Spike, would have great dance talent once he got out of his awkward stage. The song medleyed into another song, one that Spike didn't recognize but had a slightly faster beat and more energy to it. It was a quirky song that he kinda liked even though it seemed silly at times, with all the blather about a woman's fate in her lover's hands. Nerina told the group it was originally sung by the legendary Josephine Baker. Nerina strolled around the stage on Ben's arms but as they passed near her father and his cronies, her voice seemed to slightly falter on a high note. She delivered a slightly confused Ben back to his seat, strolled over to the corner and with an imperious wave, brought Spike onto the stage.

Completely flummoxed but knowing that she needed support somehow, Spike attempted to match her moves, even attempting a couple of the silly basic steps that she did at a silly line of "vo dee do do". He'd seen the steps enough to at least fake it well. He was also glad Nerina insisted both he and Jet dress in costumes similar to the bar staff, so that they didn't look to out of place. As she delivered the last line, he twirled her and sauntered off stage with a smart bow, to the crowd's general approval. He couldn't help but flash a quick grin, first at Nerina and then at a smirking Faye.

Though almost a half an hour or more passed, the audience was taken aback when the curtains fell for an intermission. Ragtime tinkled on the piano and, for giggles, several of the dancers came out to do Vaudevillian soft shoe routines, juggling various props, and one guy even did a really dumb mime act. However, it was so in spirit of the theme that everyone laughed, enjoying themselves immensely. The second intermission song was done to the accompaniment of various old movies featuring trains: train wrecks, train spoofs, train robberies. If there was a train involved, it flashed on the screen. Nerina explained while she used Ed's computer to find the videos that the ragtime song by Scott Joplin was actually a march the composer did following an infamous train crash exposition. The old black and white movies worked with the music and were funny to watch.

Spike followed Nerina to her dressing room, knowing she had a huge wardrobe to crawl into while the music tinkled in the background. The second half of the performance required a bit of maneuvering on her part. "We need to talk," he told her, shutting the door behind him.

She presented her back to him. "Do this up," she ordered, "while you talk."

Spike frowned but did as ordered. He stuck the two ends of velcro together with each suit, making sure they were closed tightly so they wouldn't breakaway during heavy dancing. "He's your father? Is he part of the Syndicate? What aren't you telling me?"

"That's talking? Sounds like questions." Nerina quickly removed the bolder colors on her face and put on more subdued yet striking shades to accentuate her cheeks, arched eyebrows and bow lips.

"Nerina, you haven't much time and I need to know. It could be crucial."

She shot him a reproachful look for using her real name but replied in a rush, as the music was winding down. "No, he wasn't Syndicate when he disowned me. What he has to do with this I haven't the foggiest idea. I haven't spoke to the man in seven years. I have told you everything, I'm at as much of a loss as you are." She turned to him right before she hurried out the door. "I will tell you this much, he and I did not part well. Georgios Karakinos' involvement in this does explain why people want me specifically, but why he has me pointed out to these people I don't know."

"We'll find out," Spike assured her. "Go." He gave her a light shove back to the stage and Nerina took her queue mere seconds before the curtains pulled open.

The scene changed and for a moment the audience was stymied, uncertain on how to react. A firm, military-style march drummed from the band and The Nymph with her dancers were in loose-fitting military style uniforms typical of the World War One and Two eras. The stage was bare except for wartime posters from World War I and II, hanging all over the brick walls. With the uniforms and inspirational pictures of Mom, the flag and apple pie, Uncle Sam Wanting YOU for the Army, Rosie the Riveter and pictures of wartime pinup girls that could still be found on space ships all over the system, the impression was one of people gearing for sacrifice at home and on the field of battle. Everyone on stage began to sing the song:

_Where do we go from here, boys? Where do we go from here?_  
 _An-y-where from Har-lem to a Jer-sey Cit-y pier,_  
 _When Pat would spy a pret-ty girl, he'd whis-per in her ear:_  
 _"Oh, joy! Oh, boy! Where do we go from here?"_

They marched with precision around the stage, the dancers weaving around The Nymph in the center, marching alone and stationary as she sang the patriotic march. The song medleyed as well into another popular war time song of the time:

_Over There, Over There_  
 _Send the word, send the word,_  
 _Over There_  
 _That the Yanks are coming,_  
 _The Yanks are coming,_  
 _The drums rum tumming everywhere_  
 _So prepare,_  
 _Say a Prayer_  
 _Send the word,_  
 _Send the word to beware_  
 _We'll be over, we're coming over._  
 _And we won't be back till it's over over there!_

Jet couldn't help but grin as he watched the hard-bitten men around him began to respond to the march. The steady beat seemed to rouse everyone's patriotic feelings, no matter where their loyalties were. It was a foot-tapping, breast pounding song, and even almost two centuries later George Cohen's wartime ditty worked its power.

It was interrupted, however, by loud cymbal crashes, hoots and hollers from back stage that startled everyone. Jet tensed, ready to spring into action before he remembered this was planned. The dancers not marching came out in a variety of swing costumes from various jazz eras as the tall, lanky lead singer of the band began to skat like a master. The jive was done in syncopation as the skat energized the crowd in true jazz fashion. As the skat became more nonsensical and the pace quickened into a jitterbug, the audience and the dancers went wild. Though the jitterbug started out slower than the jive, it quickened its pace almost immediately. Soon it was as if The Memphis Blues dancers were involved in a jazz version of the can-can. Jet was certain there was no rhyme or reason to the dancing. They were feeling the music and reacting to the beat pounding within their souls.

The song went on and on, extending beyond what was originally intended in rehearsal, but everyone was too caught up in the atmosphere. Jet caught sight of Spike on the other side of the room, his brown eyes missing nothing despite the haze from the smoke machine, as well as a multitude of cigarettes being smoked by the customers. Despite the frenetic dancing on stage, Spike and Jet were concerned with the only calm patrons in the building at the table for three up front.

Finally the jitterbug freneticism died away and the curtain fell. The Nymph long since went through two wardrobe changes, from her military style uniform at the beginning of the second act, to a bobby soxer look for the jitterbug. She left the stage long enough to rip off the last of the wartime costume and change shoes for her signature number, the one everyone who came to The Memphis Blues waited for. The fast paced song with a hint of the original Charleston tune in it gave The Nymph free reign to Charleston her way around the stage faster and faster. The crowd couldn't seem to move, only scream encouragement as the silver beaded fringe swung faster and faster as the song went faster and faster.

It took everyone some time to realize what was going on behind her. On the back wall, an iceberg was seen ramming a huge ocean liner repeatedly but it looked as if the glacier was on fire at the same time. Every once in awhile the words "Burnin' the Iceberg" would flash up, trading places with "Save the Titanic!" Jet choked on a laugh.

The song ended with a flourish. Generous bosom heaving from her exertions, The Nymph took a deep bow and the audience went berserk. The crowd just seemed to explode. The Nymph's signature Betty Boop giggle was lost in the roar of sound. Regulars at The Memphis Blues screamed it was the best show ever. Music history enthusiasts raved about the set context with the songs and costumes. Theater people swooned in delight at the entire production and showmanship. Everyone was overcome with the emotion of the evening. Jet spotted several bounty hunters he knew to be ruthless men, wiping tears from their faces unashamedly. The entire building vibrated with the intensity of the emotions.

Nerina shot Faye a smirk of triumph over her shoulder but her dolled up features contorted into alarm. Faye reacted but not quickly enough. She tried to turn, which saved her from a direct blow to the back the head, glancing off the side instead. It still sent her reeling to the floor and she fought unconsciousness. She saw familiar shoes, Mickey's shoes, hurry past her. His red and white saddle style loafers were distinctive. There were screams of alarm and shouts of surprise around her from other cast members but she couldn't get her limbs to move.

Spike and Jet both saw Faye go down and Mickey reach for Nerina's arm as the panting woman attempted to move away from her attacker. The two men began shoving through the crowd with vicious abandon. Spike chanced a glance at the table where the three men had been sitting. The old man, Nerina's father, was gone, but the two suits with him headed Spike off. Jet was still stymied by the audience, who now noticed that something wrong was happening on the stage. Both men could practically taste the fear surge; soon there would be either mob rule or panicked stampedes for the exits. Either way there were going to be a lot of injuries.

As the two goons stepped in front of him, Spike stopped to face them. People around them shoved to get out of the way. "You really don't want to do this," Spike growled menacingly over the noise. His hand flashed out, striking one of them a direct blow to the jaw. Bone sounded as if it cracked and the thug went down like a brick. Peripherally Spike saw Nerina being dragged off the stage by Mickey, her struggling and fighting only seemed to be slowing Mickey down. Though Spike and Jet considered the idea that one of the cast was a traitor, their evaluation of everyone raised no red flags. Those dancers remaining on stage were so thunderstruck that Mickey turned on The Nymph that none had the presence of mind to make a move to stop him in those crucial seconds it took to get her off-stage and toward the back door.

The second Syndicate lackey lunged at him and Spike tossed him over his shoulder in one smooth motion, using the man's own momentum against him. Spike leapt onto the stage. "Mickey's got Nymph!" he shouted over the din of exclaiming audience, screams, and shouted inquiries asking what was going on.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Jet managed to get to the stage and was clambering on, less graceful than Spike due to his game leg and prosthetic arm. A few people behind stage lunged at both Mickey and Nerina, but missed due to Mickey's agile dodging. Nerina wasn't making it easy for him though. Spike mentally cursed himself for not nagging Nerina more to learn some basic self-defense moves, though how she managed to not learn any up to now still boggled his mind. By the time Spike and Jet reached the pair at the back door, Mickey was on the floor bleeding from a head wound Nerina delivered using a prop she snagged somewhere along the way.

"You okay?" Spike panted. He reached toward her but froze at the sound of a cocking pistol behind his ear and the feel of cold iron against his skull.

"She'll be fine, Mr. Spiegel. My daughter is a resilient and resourceful young woman, much to my surprise." Five suited men entered through the backstage door to surround them. The two Spike banged up arrived half-carrying, half-dragging a groggy Faye. The one with the swelling jaw gave Spike a wary, baleful glare.

Jet counted seven total Syndicate men, not counting the older man confessing to be Nerina's father. Nerina, for her part, looked like rage was replacing her shock.

"What are you doing?" she spat at her sire. "Have you lost your mind?"

Her father blinked at her in surprise. He obviously did not expect her to be spitting fire and outrage. Likely he thought she was still the mousey wallflower that he'd washed his hands of years ago. "Children are so ungrateful," he told the assembled party. "You create them, raise them, give them the world, and they turn on you for their own selfish gain." He casually backhanded his daughter, sending Nerina spinning to the floor.

Spike exploded. It took four of the goons to hold Spike in place. "What the hell kind of father are you?" Spike snarled as the group left the pandemonium of The Memphis Blues behind them. From the sounds and screams, it sounded as if the patrons of the club were tearing it apart in their panic and desire to leave.

"The kind that likes his head on his shoulders," the older man replied the way to several large, armored vehicles. In front of the line of vans was a stretch limousine. "My daughter and I will go in style to our final destination. Her hired thugs will go with the rest of you, one per vehicle if you please. We don't want them communicating in anyway. No nefarious plotting," he smiled humorlessly. "That's my job."

"If you're worried about the Red Dragons," Jet stated in his deadly Black Dog tone, "they're no longer a threat. They've fallen-"

"Yes, I am aware of Vicious' coup and Mr. Spiegel's subsequent elimination of Vicious. Rest assured, gentlemen," Nerina's father turned to them abruptly, "the Syndicate here on Oberon doesn't seem perturbed by that fact."

Jet turned to Nerina. "Did you know your father was Syndicate?" She shook her head, a bruised lump raising on her cheek. Brown eyes flashed abject hatred in the direction of her father. There was no love lost with either party.

"My daughter left the family fold before my business with the Red Dragon Syndicate began."

"Left the family fold?" Nerina repeated derisively. "Is that what you call trying to force me to marry a man twice your age and when I refused you called me a whore, dropped me off on the nearest street corner and told me to earn my living the way all whores do?"

Nerina's father raised his hand to strike her again but the man holding up Faye, the blonde giant Spike flipped over his shoulder, spoke. "May I respectfully remind Mister Karakinos that damaged goods lessens the value to pay your debt?"

"Debt?" Spike began to laugh. "You are paying off a debt to a defunct criminal organization using your own daughter?"

"Pretty pathetic," Faye slurred. "I'm pretty far in debt myself but even I wouldn't sink that low." Her head was pounding from the smack Mickey gave it but she was aware enough of her surroundings to be ready for anything.

"That may be," conceded Nerina's father with a condescending tone, "but a valuable commodity is still a valuable commodity. Even when I was attempting to arrange her marriage she was never worth as much as she is now. In." He grabbed his daughter's arm and slung her viciously into the backseat of the limo.

Nerina's voice could be heard screaming, "Georgios Ophion Karakinos, don't you do this!" The three bounty hunters exchanged looks before they were drug away by their assigned bodyguards. All three knew that each thought the same thing: wait to cause mischief once they reached their final destination. Plus they still had an ace in the hole: Edward Wong Hau Pepulu Tivruskii the Fourth.

"Let's go." The men holding Spike slung him into the first armored van and slammed the door behind him. Jet distantly heard Karakinos tell his driver, "The airstrip, Charles," before there was the sound of a car door shutting.

Perfect, Jet thought. He had a plan, as usual, and quickly put it into effect. As he was pulled to his own private armored van escort he shouted at the stage crew peering at the armed man keeping them at bay. "Bebop!" he cried. A head disappeared from the pile but none of the lackeys seemed to notice or think it significant. Jet smiled to himself. With luck, Ed's brilliant mind would remember the 'just in case' plan.

Spike sat quietly in his mobile prison, allowing his cat and mouse smile to give his assigned escorts the jitters. It was nice to know that his reputation was still intimidating enough even after all this time away from the Red Dragon Syndicate to make them uneasy. Add what they knew before with the knowledge that he'd defeated and survived the final battle with Vicious, not exactly a cake walk in itself, especially with Vicious having destroyed the entire Van of the Syndicate. Jittery better be the least nervous reaction these idiots had, Spike reflected.

When the convoy arrived at the airstrip, the Bebop bounty hunters were meek as mice. Nerina and her father looked as if they fought the whole trip. Georgios Karakinos' face was bloody from fingernail scratches raked down the sides, narrowly missing both eyes. She was holding her arm at an odd angle, but Spike noted in a single glance that it was merely wrenched, not broken or pulled out of socket. More suited men joined them, all armed to the teeth. He shared resigned looks with Faye and Jet. Things, Spike reflected, were looking slight more complicated, but nothing they couldn't handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested here is the song line up with performer or composer and dances used for The Nymph's final show:
> 
> ACT ONE  
> Pretty Lil & Shreveport Stomp - Jelly Roll Morton - Lindy Hop  
> Pack Up Your Sins (And Go to the Devil) - Irving Berlin - Shim Sham  
> Begin the Beguine-Cole Porter (I like the Ella Fitzgerald version, but the one from the De-Lovely soundtrack by Sheryl Crow isn't half bad either) - Beguine Rumba  
> April in Paris/My Fate is in Your Hands medleyed - Sarah Vaughn and Josephine Baker respectively - no dance number unless you count impromptu generic maneuvers around stage  
> INTERMISSION  
> Easy Winners - Scott Joplin-Vaudeville acts, including a mime act mimicking Charlie Chaplain's Tramp  
> The Great Crush Collision March - Scott Joplin (for history of this song [click here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Crush)) - I was picturing scenes from Buster Keaton's The General and other silent films showing the locomotives of the age
> 
> ACT TWO  
> Nagasaki - Cab Calloway - Balboa (a chest to chest swing essentially)  
> Hep Hep The Jumpin' Jive - also Cab Calloway - Jitterbug and jivin' until it eventually segues into an early to mid 1950s bobby soxer hop  
> And last but never least  
> Burnin' the Iceberg/Charleston Rag - Charleston


	8. Chapter 8

The trip to the airstrip in the limousine was a roller coaster of emotion for Nerina. Contempt for her sire fueled Rina's ire and words soon escalated to something more.

"You never knew your place!" her father roared, losing his temper as she continued to argue, sass and backtalk to him. She was acting quite unlike the dutiful daughter she'd once been. Well, up to the point he'd attempted to sell her to the highest bidder.

"Where was that?" she shouted in return. "Bedding your latest fly in your spider web? Or investor? Or creditor?"

"You will respect me, you ungrateful tramp!"

"Why? Because I unfortunately have to call you 'father', at least biologically? Respect is earned and you are so far in the red for that commodity with everyone, it seems, you'll never be out of debt!" Rina dodged a blow, blocked another with her arm as she'd seen done in films and felt the shockwave of the blow down her arm. She wasn't certain but she thought she heard a bone crack. She ignored the pain as she raked the fingernails of both hands down Georgios' face when he lurched back into her reach.

He howled with surprised pain and jerked back, patting at the gouges with a hastily grabbed snowy white handkerchief.

"All those fine airs," she sneered with more bravado than she felt, "and you're still just a flesh-peddler and not even a successful one at that."

She never saw the blow that knocked her senseless but when she came to the limo was pulling to a stop at the airport. Jerked ruthlessly from her seat by her injured arm, she gasped in pain and tried to pull it away to keep it from further injury. She could feels tears of humiliation, pain and anger tracking down her face. Rina chanced a glance at Spike, hoping on even a false look of reassurance but he looked everywhere but at her. A sense of abandonment swept through her. He looked angry and she honestly couldn't blame him. No doubt some of that anger was directed at her for never mentioning her family situation but really, how could she have known the family that disowned her in the most brutal fashion would be behind this entire fiasco?

"I see you found her, Georgios." Everyone turned to face three newcomers emerging from the shade of the nearby hangar. All the Syndicate men's spines snapped straight, as if at attention. Karakinos attempted a casual air of greeting but it was far too obvious to the bounty hunters that it was only a facade. The speaker surveyed the assembled crew and when his eyes fell onto Spike, the smile faltered only slightly before broadening. "Mr. Spiegel," he greeted, glancing at his two companions. They both stiffened as well and gave Spike extremely wary looks. "Interesting meeting you again, especially considering under the circumstances you were to be terminated." The others who accompanied them from the club shot Karakinos accusing glares.

"I know you?" Spike asked in a bored tone. Despite his attitude of indifference, he studied the newcomer. Now that he thought about it, the man did have a slightly familiar look to him.

"Indeed, we met some years ago on Mars. You and your former partner and friend, Vicious, were occupied with other...matters." The latter was said with a leering sneer and Spike growled low in his throat at the reference to Julia. The man sketched a gentlemanly bow to Faye. "Lovely lady bounty hunter, allow me to introduce myself -"

"You cannot possibly guess how much I don't care," Faye told him derisively, "or how much my knee would rather be introduced to your groin right now."

"What a decided lack of manners," chided the man, "so I take back the term 'lady' in reference to you." Faye settled on glaring daggers at him. The man started rubbing his upper lip in a thoughtful manner and everything clicked in Spike's memory.

It flashed to the past. The billiard parlor and bar favored by the hitmen of the Red Dragon Syndicate. Julia, straightening from making a bank shot, and Vicious congratulating her by jerking her to him for a deep kiss, oblivious to the flash of jealousy on the face of his best friend. A man behind them, older than he and Vicious but not nearly as savage, watching both Spike and Vicious with a considering half-smile. A man who wanted to be the caliber of Spike and Vicious but unable to rise through the ranks due to lack of skill and an off-putting arrogance that irritated everyone. A man who thought himself superior to everyone around him and therefore not worth the respect he was forced to show.

"Del Bontecou," Spike said slowly. "I was really hoping Vicious was smart enough to get rid of you when he had the chance." Spike allowed a little smile play his lips in a cat that ate the canary fashion. "Or if he didn't, I did, when I blew through...literally."

Bontecou smiled back. "You do remember me! How delightful but I'm afraid neither Vicious nor you are as thorough as you should have been."

"I see that. Don't worry, I'll be rectifying the matter shortly." Spike laughed without a drop of humor in it. "As usual, I'm left to clean up Vicious' dregs."

Bontecou's smile fell away and it was replaced with a look of hatred. "Dregs? Vicious couldn't see beyond the end of his nose, otherwise he would have noticed his best friend and girlfriend cuckholding him. And you are even more narrow-visioned and minded." Bontecou realized he'd lost control of the situation and reigned in his temper. He turned to Karakinos with a raised eyebrow of inquiry. "Have a bit of trouble, did we?"

"Easily handled, as you can see. Meek as lambs once they understood there was no point in causing a ruckus," Karakinos gestured at the bounty hunters and his daughter.

"You are a fool," sneered Bontecou. "My agent at The Memphis Blues informed me as you were pulling up in your antiquated vehicle that the place is ablaze." Nerina gasped. "Part of the charm of your lovely and clever daughter was the club. We didn't need the manager, as we'd planned on running the money end ourselves. However, without the building, your daughter's worth drops significantly. She spent years and thousands of woolongs creating both the club and The Nymph's reputation. You destroyed her entire net worth in less than hour."

Karakinos may have been a fool but he was smart enough to know when his life was in danger. He quickly began to prevaricate. "You have her," he gestured at his daughter. "She's the important part -"

A shot rang out. Nerina jumped with a small scream as her father crumpled to the tarmac, a blossom of red spreading across his chest. Spike registered the wound as serious but not fatal...at least not immediately. Faye struggled against the iron grip of her guard to no avail.

"Fool," Bontecou repeated disinterestedly. "She's practically worthless but since she's all you have, I'll take her anyway." He stooped down and pulled Karakinos' head up by his thinning hair. Karakinos moaned, edging into unconsciousness. "We'll knock off a third of your debt. Your family still owes the Red Dragon Syndicate the rest, whether you live or not."

Bontecou stood back up and faced the captive bounty hunters consideringly. He flicked his wrist at the two men who accompanied him. Both took one of Nerina's arms and began to haul her in the direction of an elegant craft that gleamed with black paint and a stylized red oriental dragon. Bontecou gave them a silent bow and turned to follow his lackeys. He hesitated long enough to toss over his shoulder a small, lightweight object that floated awkwardly to the ground. Jet and Faye squinted to see what it was but Spike, though, already knew.

"Still folding paper like a child, Bontecou?" Spike sneered at the retreating man. "That gimmick was tasteless the first time you used it and it's even stupider now." The ominous sound of the black craft's engines starting up was like a herald of the bounty hunters' doom. "It's why the Van ignored you, idiot. You don't leave calling cards in gang warfare so that every manjack cop can identify you."

The significance of the folder paper became clear to Jet. The wind blew the folded paper closer to them. "An origami dragon?" he snorted. "Is he joking?"

"Is that what that is?" asked Faye, still trying to decipher it. "It's crappy looking."

Jet traded a look with Spike, who gave a single head nod. "EDWARD!" shouted Jet, his deep voice full throttle and ringingly clear.

A low roar grew behind the hangar building they stood next to; a familiar beatup, converted fishing trawler lovingly christianed Bebop rose from behind the building. In Ed's usual haphazard fashion of flying, the yellow battered craft angled to the land right on top of the group but took out half the small hangar building instead. The guards shouted in alarm, loosening their hold on the bounty hunters long enough for them to break free.

Faye, Jet and Spike took the advantage with enthusiasm.

Faye stomped her heel back into the instep of her guard while ramming her elbow into the stomach of another who whirled to face her. The two motions combined with their panic at being flattened by the clumsy landing of the Bebop allowed Faye to deliver two bruising jaw punches that dropped them like rocks. She snatched up one of their pistols and turned to shoot at one of the three men on Spike.

She needn't have bothered.

Spike and his three holders were closest to the hangar and all four dove out of the way first. Spike did take advantage of a face nearby his foot, lashing out and cold-cocking the man. His hands found the throat of the one closest to hand and Spike pulled him into a choke hold. The last was struggling to his feet but Faye's shot downed him neatly. The man howled as blood welled from the wound to his upper right leg. Another quick kick from Spike silenced the wounded howl of the gunshot guard.

Jet's two keepers were ridiculously easy. As Bebop hovered threateningly over them the merest moment before her descent, Jet took advantage of their open-mouthed astonishment to spin out of their grasp. He put one of his giant hands on either side of their heads, smashing them together like two coconuts before they could even react.

The hangar building exploded in tin and aluminium debris as Ed clumsily set Bebop down. Spike pulled his groggy, half-choked goon from the rubble, re-establishing the choke hold. "Where are they going?" he growled, rage welling deep inside of him. "Where?"

"Athens...port...special shuttle...to Mars," gasped the man, clawing desperately at Spike's tightening grip.

Spike gave the man one more squeeze and shake. The man's body slumped, unconscious from the lack of air. Sirens wailed in the distance, signally the imminent arrival of the authorities. "Let's go!" shouted Spike but Faye and Jet were already clambering aboard Bebop via the ladder leading to the trawler's landing deck. Spike followed, his long legs eating up the distance as he sprinted for the hangar bay and Swordfish.

Jet disappeared into the bowels of the ship, presumably the bridge area while Faye and Spike strapped into the Redtail and Swordfish respectively. "I'll head straight for Athens Port." Jet's voice was tinny through communicators on both smaller ships. "You two try to slow them down enough that the cops can catch up and escort them."

"We'll do our best," Faye assured as Redtail lifted into the air and zoomed out of the bay, following Swordfish. Spike didn't answer. Swordfish jettisoned out of Bebop like a cannonball. Together the two ships headed for the dot in the distance that was Bontecou's craft.

* * *

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God."

"Shut up." Rina reeled from yet another backhand to her face and spun into the seat she was being guided toward. She hadn't realized she was chanting her prayer of disbelief. Bontecou patted his lightly mussed hair back into place and elegantly folded himself into a comfortable seating position. A stewardess wearing less clothing than Rina quietly appeared beside them and placed a chilled decanter of champagne and strawberries between them.

"Spike's right, you know," Rina gasped out, gingerly touching her injured face and eying the celebratory setup. "You couldn't possibly get more movie villain cliched if you tried. Are you going to monologue about your evil plan next?"

Bontecou smiled a shark-like smile. "Your role in all of this will be very simple. You will recreate The Memphis Blue and all profits will go directly to me. Your opinion will be irrelevant and your input in anything other than the artistic side of things will be non sequitur."

"Non sequitur?" inquired Nerina with a derisive laugh. "Do you even know what that means?"

Bontecou's arm raised to hit her again and Rina cringed back. Satisfied with her cowed attitude, Bontecou lowered him arm. "I just told you your opinion doesn't matter. Now shut up like a good little slut and enjoy the ride. Soon you will be on Mars and within six months the toast of Mars City."

"Six months? You think that's all the time it will take to recreate The Memphis Blues?" Rina was incredulous. "It took Rad and I years to get it off the ground."

"Well, now you have the experience, so it will go faster. Stop speaking." Bontecou gave her a warning glance and Rina narrowed her gaze at him in return.

"I'm cold. This outfit isn't exactly insulated. If I'd know I was taking a trip, I would have packed a bag." Rina huddled into herself. She spoke the truth because it was chilly.

Bontecou stood up, jerked his jacket off and threw it at her. "Now kindly shut. your. hole."

Nerina hesitated. The less she touched anything belonging to this man, the less she'd be tempted to throw up from nerves, shock and terror. Her shivering won out and she gingerly put on the coat, careful of her wrenched arm.

The small transport vessel shuddered and lurched, throwing Rina against the window with a thump and Bontecou to the floor in an unceremonious sprawl. "What is going on up there?" he thundered as he staggered to his feet, only to lose his balance again from another lurch as the ship seemed to dodge something in the air.

"We're under fire, sir," stammered the terrified stewardess, staring out one of the portside windows with huge round eyes.

"What..who...Spiegel," sputtered Bontecou as the ship took another hit that caused alarms to sound and the oxygen masks to drop as the cabin suddenly lost pressure.

* * *

"Faye!" Spike ordered through their audio linkup. "You take portside, I'll take starboard."

"What?" whined Faye. "What the hell does that mean?"

"You take the left, I'll take the right, dammit!" thundered Spike. They almost caught up with Bontecou's ship. Swordfish darted among the clouds like a flying fish on a white capped sea, breaking apart the pinkish colored moisture packs like they were smoke. He lined up the vessel and fired. The multiple shot barrage hit the transport vessel, causing some smoke to appear but quickly dissipate.

"It's going to be hard to do anything to it without blowing it up," Faye reported grimly, "but it doesn't seem to have any guns of it's own."

"Del wasn't known for his high intelligence, but he was an arrogant little sneak," Spike groused. "It never would have occurred to him that there would be a problem."

"If we damage it enough we might be able to force a landing," Faye suggested.

Spike shot down to get a look at the landscape below. "Not good. This area isn't terraformed. Who knows what the atmosphere is like down there. A crash landing could be fatal in more ways than one."

"Dammit." Faye's guns rattatatted , sending warning shots off the bow of the ship, forcing it to dodge and weave. "Hopefully, Rina was smart enough to buckle up and origami boy wasn't."

"Jet, we need some way to get this ship to a safer location to force it down." Spike zipped his long-nosed fighter alongside Bontecou's vessel, hoping for a glimpse of Nerina, but it was to no avail. She wasn't on his side of the vessel but there was a petrified woman Spike didn't recognize glued to the window staring at him before he angled Swordfish away.

"Gimme a minute," Jet ground out.

"Try these coordinates!" chirped Ed a few heartbeats later. Coordinate points blinked on the topographical screens of both Swordfish and Redtail's consoles.

"All right, Faye, time to herd," grinned Spike almost manically.

Faye's excited laughter spilled over the commlink. "Yee ha!"

Together, Swordfish and Redtail's guns began to fire, forcing the transport vessel over to a patch of land safe for a possible forced landing. As the three ships moved between the clouds, Spike spotted occasional terrain below, looking like it could possibly be failed farms or other outlying townships of the terraformed planet. Still, though, they couldn't get the vessel close to landing.

"We're going to have to do this the hard way," Spike told Faye grimly.

"Be careful, Spike," warned Faye in an equally grim tone.

"What are you gonna do?" asked Jet worriedly. "Don't do anything stupid, Spike."

"Stupid's what I do best." Spike gritted his teeth and powered up the Swordfish's plasma cannon on it's nose tip. With luck and a good aim, he reasoned, he could take out one of the vessel's engines, giving it no choice but to land. "How far are the cops from us?" he asked.

Jet's voice was calm. "Per their comm chatter 15 minutes out, but probably more in reality."

Spike triggered the plasma cannon and the beam of light burst from it's nozzle, burning through the clouds, dissipating them so thoroughly there was not even any steam in it's wake. Unerringly, the beam struck the starboard side engine, frying it completely and fusing the metal into a shapeless heap around the impact area.

The vessel destabilized immediately and began a rapid descent. "Shit!" shouted Spike in a panic. "Too much!"

"Oh no!" and "Nerina!" were shouted by Faye and Spike at the same time, deafening Jet's eardrums with their force.

"What?" shouted Jet back.

"Nerina jumped or was pushed out, Jet," came Faye's terrified report, "and I don't see a chute."


	9. Chapter 9

As the ship dodged and weaved from it's pursuers and their gunfire, Nerina, the unnamed stewardess and Bontecou did their best to maintain their equilibrium. When the stewardess' screams and moans got to be too much for Bontecou, he shot her, her body slumping first over the back of a nearby seat and eventually rolling along the aisle. Rina realized that Bontecou's self control, meager though it was, was slipping away.

There was a boom! from outside and the transport vessel seemed to bounce and shudder with the force of an unknown hit. The interior immediately lost power, with red emergency lights feebly flickering on and off. Metal screamed somewhere in the back and the ship's trajectory went into a steep downward angle. The emergency oxygen masks dropped automatically as the cabin depressurized. Rina snatched at one and slapped it over her face. Her ears popped and tingled but the oxygen helped tremendously. The last thing she needed was altitude sickness and hypoxia in addition to the lunatic with a gun.

Bontecou tried several times to snag a mask himself but the constant motion of the vessel jerked his grasp loose each time he laid hand on one. His eyes turned wild and his face became paler and paler. It took Rina a moment to realize that the lack of oxygen for Bontecou was not helping her situation any.

The ship leveled out slightly and Bontecou managed to get a mask onto his face. After several deep breaths he managed to regain control of himself and stared grimly at a nearby window. "Nothing for it," he muttered.

Without warning he grabbed a parachute and lunged for Rina. Jerking her from the seat she was barely keeping herself in, he struggled with her to the exit hatch. He pulled the lever to open the door and the roar of air being sucked out deafened them both for a moment. In his ineptitude, the consequences of that action never occurred to Bontecou. He had the parachute half on and Rina did not have one at all. Rina was swept off her feet with Bontecou right beside her. She tried to grab at something and managed to snag his leg. Dangling above the ground who knew how far up, Rina was thankful the idiot managed to grab hold of something and hoped he had a firm grip.

Rina looked up to see what her living life preserver was doing and saw with a sickened dread that the parachute tangled around his neck and was snagged on the lever that opened the door. As Bontecou was swept away the motion snapped his neck. Her precarious grip on relative safety was on a dead man.

Gulping in what air she could manage, Rina crawled her way up Bontecou's body, praying the whole way, nothing would happen that would rip from him before she got into the relative safety of the rapidly descending ship. She once heard a joke that a landing was just a controlled crash. She had a feeling that this 'landing' would not be controlled by anyone's standards. Finally reaching the interior once more, she grabbed the lever for a hand hold and looked around for another parachute. One more dangled from it's storage locker and Rina precariously made her way over to it, using the little handles and straps provided for the stewardess.

Grabbing the chute and pulling it on, she anchored herself by scrunching into the locker as she strapped on the chute. Rina hoped she had it on right. At this point, she would still rather risk a wrenched shoulder or collar bone injury to a flaming splat on the ground. Taking a deep breath and a silent prayer for the poor pilot still struggling to maintain altitude, Nerina made a running jump out of the transport and into the bluish skies of Oberon.

* * *

Spike's stomach lurched and his heart momentarily stopped beating in horror when he realized that it was Rina's form that flashed by his cockpit window, narrowly missing being splattered on Swordfish. He didn't realize he screamed her name. He angled his racer down, his brain rapidly calculating ways to save her, but nothing was coming to mind. It all ended in a horrible, bloody mess.

He lost sight of her but a minute or so later a bright orange splotch in the blue and white sky popped into view. He almost sagged with relief. She found a parachute but she was still in potential danger. The odds were good that the limit of her knowledge was to pull the cord. She likely had no idea how to steer the chute to a safe location to land and she probably didn't know how to land either. All he and Faye could do now was slowly descend and try to keep her in sight.

"Faye, she popped a chute, it's orange, hard to miss," Spike reported.

"God knows where she's going to land," Faye said.

"One thing at a time, you two," Jet soothed. "She's a smart cookie, she'll figure it out."

"I just hope she read on book on using them or something in that library," muttered Spike. Ed's exultant giggle filtered to him. "Tell the cops where to meet us. That transport vessel is going to to make a fiery landing very shortly. We'll be hard to miss."

"Will do," acknowledged Jet.

Swordfish and Redtail kept the floating songstress in sight as Rina floated to the ground. Her parachute tangled enough in a copse of trees that blocked her from their view. Spike and Faye landed nearby and ran pellmell to the trees to find Nerina struggling from her harness about two feet off the ground. When she saw them her brown eyes flooded with relief.

"Blowing up my ship was rescuing me?" she teased as Spike held her still and Faye undid the buckles.

Spike scooped her into his arms, holding her tight and allowing the fear for her safety and his anger at her predicament release from his body. "Bitch bitch bitch, next time we'll let the bad guys have your whining butt," Faye smarted back, resting her head on Rina's shoulder and arms on her waist in as much of a hug as she could get in around Spike's iron hold.

Rina struggled free from Spike's hold long enough to turn around and hug Faye in return. "Thank you, my friends, thank you so goddamned much."

"Hey, what can we say?" Jet came from around Faye's Redtail and approached them. "We're the cat's meow."

"Meow!" agreed Ed, poking her head from right behind him.

Rina laughed shakily as Ein ran over and parked his Corgi behind in front of her before offering an inquiring bark. "Yes, you guys are definitely the cat's meow."

* * *

The pilot of Bontecou's transport vessel managed a shaky landing and evacuation in a marshy area a couple kilometers from where Rina's parachute landed her. The local constabulary rounded everyone up and took them back to Theseus. Nerina took great satisfaction in waving her father away in an ambulance, cuffed to his rolling gurney, with a perky "See you in Hell, Daddy". Shivering from the shock of her several near-death incidents, Nerina relayed to several detectives the circumstances surrounding the death of Radney Acre and other workers at The Memphis Blues, her father's involvement with a local syndicate, and the Bebop crew's role as bodyguards and helpmates. Spike, Jet, Ed, and Faye were also interrogated at length regarding their involvement. Wanted for other things they might be, but on Oberon the Bebop crew kept their noses clean so they were released with a warning to stay out of further mischief. When Nerina stumbled out of the precinct an hour after Spike, he noted that she looked as exhausted as she no doubt felt.

Her brown eyes, already huge in her elfin face, were enormous with dark, deep shadows circling beneath them. Her pale face, bruised arms and shoulders, and mussed hair were offset by the almost still pristine condition of her stage dress. A few sequins and beads were torn off, there was a tiny split seam and some of the fringe looked frayed, but otherwise, considering what it had gone through, the dress looked remarkably good. She was shrugging into a man's coat that looked like it once belonged to Bontecou. It probably had, Spike realized with a scowl. She was still shaky and probably need the warmth so he didn't begrudge her it.

He pushed away from the concrete wall around a few scraggly box shrubs, dropped his cigarette on the ground, stomped on it to put it out and opened his arms. With a half-sob, Rina fell into his embrace, holding him as tight as she could. When she finally pulled away, her tears streaked her face rather unattractively and he said so, to lighten the moment.

Rina laughed shakily and wiped her face with her palm. "Sorry. Can't look fabulous all the time."

"I'll deal with most of the time," Spike told her. "Come on, we can take a taxi to the air park."

"No." Rina shook her head. "I want to see the club."

"Rina-" Spike started to protest but subsided when he saw her stubborn expression. "All right." He helped her into the taxi and slid in next to her. She leaned forward to give the address.

"The Memphis Blues?" asked the cabbie incredulously. He took a long look at her and his eyes narrowed. "Ain't you The Nymph?"

Rina sighed. "Not anymore." The cabbie stared at her some more.

"You gonna drive or gawk all night?" asked Spike testily. The cabbie drove. When they arrived, Spike pulled Rina out of the cab as she stared stupefied at the damaged building. It was still smoldering. "Keep the meter running. I don't think this will take long," he told the driver.

"Whatever." The cabbie leaned over to watch Rina walk as if in a trance to the front entrance.

Spike wrapped his long arms around her shoulders gingerly and pulled her backward into him. "You okay?" He expected more tears.

"Yes." There was a long pause before she spoke again. "It'll be okay. Most of what was inside were reproductions. We couldn't afford the antiques, of course. I wouldn't have let them stay in the bar anyway. Everything's covered by insurance, I made sure of that, so I'll get a tidy sum from the claim." She tilted her head back to look up at him a moment. "I can rebuild. Find someone else, maybe, to help?" She gave him a hopeful look.

Spike gave her his patented lopsided smile as he slipped a credit chip into the now-ratty coat she was wearing over the dress. It was half the bounty they received for the capture of her father and his cronies, plus the death of Bontecou, who apparently had multiple corporate, private and ISSP bounties on him. Jet, Ed, Faye and Spike mutually decided that Rina more than earned half of over 500,000 woolongs.

"Maybe," he conceded. "You and Rad had a sweet thing going here though."

Rina's brown eyes darkened again. "Yes, we did." She sighed heavily and turned away. "I doubt there's anything to salvage. The damage looks pretty thorough. Take me home, Spike."

"Bebop or your apartment?"

"Both, either, neither, I don't care, take me home." Spike bundled her back into the car, gave directions to the air park and settled back to think. He had a lot of thinking to do.

* * *

"So?" Faye was lounging against the doorjamb of Rina's quarters. She watched Rina sorting through the left over props, costumes and othet accoutrements that never wound up at The Memphis Blues two nights prior.

"So what?" asked Rina, holding up an A-line skirt and seeming to measure it against Faye's boyish figure. "I don't suppose there's a chance in hell you'd ever wear this?" Faye snorted in a very unladylike manner. "I thought not." Rina tossed it into the 'give away' pile.

"You and Spike," wheedled Faye, taking a final drag on her cigarette. "You staying with us? He going with you? Spill, girlfriend, what's the scoop?"

Rina paused. "He's not cut out to be a money manager, he said. I'm not a bounty hunter. I've had enough excitement to last me quite awhile, thank you."

Faye looked at her in disbelief. "You're just leaving each other?" she asked incredulously. "Just like that? Boom, it's over?"

Rina flashed Faye a smile. "Ah, Faye Valentine, you know Spike better than that, don't you? He's been wheedling me for two days now, but I am resilient in the face of such temptation. I am my own woman, I will make my own way in this uncertain time."

"Okay, Melville," muttered Faye. "You aiming at whales now?"

Rina looked startled. "What?" she laughed.

"Moby Dick. Ahab chasing the whale and it gets him in the end?" Faye arched an eyebrow. "You're a librarian and you don't know Moby Dick?"

Rina laughed, shaking her head. "Sure, I know the story of Ahab, Ishmael and the great white whale. I was just wondering how it was relevant."

"You're chasing after something that's not real, not solid." Faye lifted a pair of tap shoes and tapped the bottoms together in a two-four rhythm.

Rina's smile turned to a melancholy frown. "You actually want Don Quixote for that reference but I was thinking I resembled Ernest."

"Huh?"

"The Importance of Being Earnest, where the character Jack has a made up alter-ego named Ernest that he pretends to be so he can do things he normally wouldn't do. That's what The Nymph was to me. But I liked The Nymph more than I liked Nerina the Librarian. The Nymph was free, she had fun, she lived." Rina took the shoes away from Faye and packed them in their shoe box, taping it closed. "Nerina never really lived for anything except the nights she was The Nymph."

"Then maybe Nerina should be The Nymph!" exclaimed Ed, peeking out from beneath some taffeta skirts and velvet trimming.

Nerina laughed again and poked Ed's head back beneath the lush fabrics. "And maybe I just will, squirt! Maybe I just will!"


	10. Chapter 10

The Bebop crew spent the rest of the week helping cart away the dregs of the stage, props, and costumes to where ever Nerina wanted them to go. Rina made an appearance at the library, only to find her co-workers eying her warily or with abject fascination. She became a minor celebrity among the bookish crowd of Theseus, a sensation that Rina found she didn't care for. Perhaps, she reflected, that was why she kept Nerina Karakinos and The Nymph separate. Ne'er the twain should have met, to paraphrase Rudyard Kipling.

Per Faye's request, Rina threw herself into turning the other woman's cramped quarters into a pasha's dream. From salvaged fabrics from both the Bebop and her own tossed apartment, Rina layered Faye's quarters in the colors of old gold, bright scarlet, dark orange, and pale creams. A couple of plump pillows of amethyst hue adorning the bed turned the plain bunk into a sensualist's paradise. With drapery overhead and framing the small doorway and a couple of art prints favoring Moroccan themes stuck on the walls, the impression of harem per Faye's desire was a feast for the eyes. Faye broadly hinted that Rina needed to consider sticking around.

Ed was pampered, petted, teased, played with and sung to on request. All the mothering Ed never received in her life thus far Rina was happy to give. They played dress-up, sang silly songs, and Ed did remarkable things on her computer, digging up all sorts of information for Rina with her typical innocent abandonment, not understanding that for the older woman it all had a purpose. Ed hugged Rina around the waist with her typical abandon and cried out one evening, "Never let you go!"

Jet got cooking lessons and they trimmed bonsai trees together. It turned out one of the librarian's Rina once worked with grew them as well, so Rina bulked up Jet's supply by another four, each trimmed to whatever Zen-like specification the two wanted. The two chatted about art, literature, and jazz. Jet mentioned at least once an hour that the Bebop had plenty of room for one more crew member.

Ein was brushed, patted, given new dog toys and a rhinestone collar that Spike joked cost more than the dog did. He even suffered through a bath, smelling of wet dog before he dried and shined like a fluffy new toy.

Spike and Rina hogged the evening hours, filling them with tender touches, soft whispers of conversation and the occasional bout of laughter. They did a little talking, but Spike wasn't exactly the chatty sort and didn't know what to say to Rina, so he just listened to her tell stories of books she read, places she wanted to see and, of course, music. Spike wanted her to stay, but he didn't want to keep her where she didn't want to be. Rina fantasized but never revealed her plans on what she was going to do. As always, she was the woman of mystery.

The last night of the Bebop on Theseus, Rina cooked a sumptuous feast, with a sampling of everyone's favorite foods: bellpeppers and beef, chicken tortellini, chicken nuggets with macaroni and cheese, Filet Mignon, rice, potatoes, corn, and various fresh fruits. Even Ein got special treatment with choice cutlets of fresh meat mixed with kibble. Everyone partook fine wine with their meal, while Ed had fresh squeezed lemonade. The atmosphere was carefree and easy, with joking, ribbing, teasing and merriment.

When the evening wound down and all went to their respective bunks, Spike and Rina's lovemaking was volcanic. When they were replete, Spike lay drowsily on his bunk. Rina lay in his arms, also physically spent, idly tracing random patterns on his chest.

"You aren't coming with us, are you?" Spike finally asked, reaching for a cigarette. Rina intercepted the tobacco roll with a frown and flicked it away. "I was gonna smoke that," Spike good-naturedly complained.

"They'll kill you one day," Rina told him, rolling over on her stomach and kicking her feet into the air.

"I'm counting on a lucky bullet first," Spike told her with a grin. She frowned at him more repressively. "You didn't answer my question."

"I haven't decided," Rina answered evasively, avoiding looking him in the eyes.

"Liar," he chided softly. "What are you going to do?"

Rina smiled slyly and slanted him a mischievous look. "Same answer."

Spike's chest rumbled with his suppressed laughter. "Minx."

"I can't accept the money, Spike."

It was Spike's turn to frown. "You can and you will," he informed her tersely. "No arguments."

Rina tilted her head to look at him for a very long moment. "All right, no arguments."

Spike grunted in satisfaction. "Good."

"You Tarzan, me Jane," Rina grunted back. Spike hiked an eyebrow. "I can't believe you've never heard of Tarzan. He's such a man's man." She reached over and pulled a book from amidst her clothes. "I bought it from the library, gave them a newer copy actually, so I could have this one with my harrowing adventures inside it." She shrugged self-consciously. "Kind of a souvenir."

She opened the well-worn novel, it's hard back spine crackling with use and age. She thumbed through until she found a passage and read, "I do not understand exactly what you mean by fear," said Tarzan. "Like lions, fear is a different thing in different men, but to me the only pleasure in the hunt is the knowledge that the hunted thing has power to harm me as much as I have to harm him. If I went out with a couple of rifles and a gun bearer, and twenty or thirty beaters, to hunt a lion, I should not feel that the lion had much chance, and so the pleasure of the hunt would be lessened in proportion to the increased safety which I felt."

"Okay, I can agree with that," acknowledged Spike.

Rina thumbed around and found another passage. "I love the imagery of this. See if you can guess what it's about." She cleared her throat. "A vivid and blinding light flashed from the whirling, inky clouds above. The deep cannonade of roaring thunder belched forth its fearsome challenge. The deluge came--all hell broke loose upon the jungle."

Spike pondered. "Either a really bloody fight or one hell of a thunderstorm."

Rina looked startled and reread the passage to herself. "Wow, it would never have occured to me to think of a battle." She peered up at him through her smoky dark eyelashes. "You're a natural." She flicked through the pages again and Spike saw various drawn scenes scattered here and there of a loincloth clad man with a muscular chest surrounded by various animals and people, depending on the scene being portrayed. "This one is appropriate as well: "The time has arrived when patience becomes a crime and mayhem appears garbed in a manner of virtue."

"Amen, brother," Spike intoned. Rina giggled. "So what's this Tarzan's story?" He settled down as Rina began to tell him the story of Tarzan of the Apes and his jungle adventures. He fell asleep listening to her voice lull him into the world of jungles, primitive battles royale and the triumph of good over evil.

When he awoke hours later, it was morning and Jet was pounding on the door. Spike could hear Ed's disturbed voice wailing and Faye shouting about what Spike did to Rina to make her leave. He rolled out of bed, pulled on some underwear and jerked his door open. The hall fell silent.

"She didn't want to stay," Spike told them calmly. "If you wanted me to tie her up, you should have said," then he slammed the door shut in their stunned faces. He glanced around. All her clothes were gone. All trace of Nerina Karakinos in his bed, and in his life, was gone.

"Two ships passing in the night," he muttered, lighting the cigarette he found on the floor where Rina threw it the night before. He took a deep drag. "How bluesy of us, Nymph."

Spike rubbed a long-fingered hand down his face and glanced at his bedside table. There sat a book, a familiar book. He half-smiled and picked it up. "Tarzan of the Apes," he read the title on the cover. He flipped open the hard cover and slowly smiled when he read the hand-written inscription.

_Here's looking at you, kid. We'll always have Theseus._

With a grin growing wider, Spike gingerly pulled the loose binding open, thinking to find Nerina's account of what happened to her, maybe with additions of everything that happened after. Instead he found a simple map, complete with an X marking the spot. He dressed quickly and bolted from his room, his heart hammering in his chest.

Spike strode quickly past Jet in the bonsai room, half-heartedly watering the plants. Jet's head poked out in surprise.

He blew past Faye, wrapped in a towel and heading for the shower. Spike ignored her indignant 'hey!' as he bumped past her.

Ed was leapt over where she was lying in whimpering heap in the middle of the corridor next to an equally downcast Ein. Ein's ears perked up and the little Corgi bounded after Spike in a rush, as did everyone else. Spike screeched to a halt, with his alarmed entourage right behind him, in the middle of the hangar bay.

He glanced down at the map, looked around and then folded it carefully before tucking the paper into his jacket pocket. Brown eyes flickering this way and that like a nervous deer, Spike tracked around the parked airships, poked through supply crates and felt in corners that hadn't seen the light of day in ages. Out of a crevice he pulled out a slip of paper...another map.

Perusing it, Spike grinned, spun on his heel and pelted off. "There he goes again," commented Faye in confusion.

"Like a hound on the trail," agreed Jet, turning to follow Spike.

From another map found in the kitchen, to a riddle found in the navigation room/bridge, to a picture of Ein that had Spike scrambling to pick over every little thing Ein owned, Spike wandered all over the ship, trying to figure out what Nerina left them. At last, tucked in a plastic case inside one of the bonsai trees she bought Jet was the credit chip that Spike slipped into her "borrowed" jacket days earlier.

"What the-" sputtered Jet.

"The sneaky little minx," laughed Faye.

"Oooooh!" cooed Ed.

Ein gave one clipped bark.

Spike said nothing. He handed the chip to Jet and returned to his bunk, where he sacked out once more on the bed. Nerina's scent lingered on his sheets and he could still hear her laughter even once the Bebop was cruising onto an airstrip on Mars six months later. There, on a cheap playbill in the laundromat Spike was crouched in hunting a few hundred woolong bounty head, was a familiar looking face under the heading "The Jazz Spectacular!" In a very familiar sequined and fringed flapper dress, her short bobbed hair in a weird wave that Spike had no doubt was completely authentic, and her smoky eyes glinting pure mischief from the poster, was Nerina Karakinos, now self-styled as "The Jazz Coquette of the Age, The Queen of Bebop, The One and Only SIREN!" The club was The S'Marvelous in the New Orleans district of Mars City.

With a grin and a mental note to send The Siren some flowers, Spike leapt from his hiding place and landed himself another bountyhead.

 

NOW AIN'T THAT THE CAT'S PAJAMAS, SPACE COWBOY?


End file.
